


Services Needed

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Medical Emergency, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Arthur's working so much these days, he needs a dog sitter. He hires Merlin, whose quirky charm he's not yet ready for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Services Needed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this kinkme_merlin prompt: _Modern AU: Merlin loves animals, all animals, which is what led him to his current employment as a dog walker. Arthur is a young business man whose beloved pet is a golden retriever that happens to need walked daily. Merlin has a slew of friends he relies on and trusts, where Arthur trusts no one (having been used and screwed over by many in his past including his own family) thus only trusts in his four legged companion, Oliver._
> 
>  
> 
> _Enter Merlin into Arthur's world. Working for his father, Arthur finds himself spending more late nights than he'd like away from home and Oliver, which is why he hires Merlin. Of course they get off to a rocky start, Merlin being so open and carefree, and Arthur keeping everyone at a distance, not even wanting to open himself to any more betrayal. For Merlin, it's love at first sight, but for Arthur it's more intrigue because he's never met anyone like Merlin before, and the skinny, big eared, grinning fool simply unreal. What is the turning point? What helps Arthur drop his defenses and possibly (finally) let someone in? Why it's Oliver, who accepts and loves Merlin at first meeting._
> 
>  
> 
> _Must: While Arthur refers to his dog as Oliver, Merlin takes to referring to Oliver as Ollie, first only when Arthur is away at work, but there should be that one moment when Arthur first hears the nickname._
> 
>  
> 
> _Love wins out, as always with these two, with whatever the author wants to throw in the getter there parts._

Yawning, lids heavy, Arthur turns the key in the lock and steps inside. Mechanically, he turns on the light so he can see where he's going, but the sight that greets him makes him wish he hadn't. His flat, which he makes a point of keeping clean, is, for lack of better words, a mess of epic proportions. It looks like World War III just struck. Or an alien invasion. Or both.

Two vases have shattered; the shards thrown around on the formerly shiny and pristine oak parquet floor. Water's pooling around the shards. The flowers that were kept in them no longer look like flowers. Partly because they've been chewed on. Partly because their petals are scattered everywhere. It looks like someone's idea of Disney nuptials gone wrong.

A look to the left tells him that the sofa cushions have been ripped to shreds; the stuffing is still scattered around everywhere. Murder by dawn feathers. Plumes float when he sneezes.

A look to the right isn't more comforting. The contents of the rubbish bin – he recognises his frozen meal box from yesterday – have spilled, reduced to tiny, bite-size streamers of disgusting origin. Tomato sauce is seasoning the rubbish fest. Paw marks come in mushroom sauce though.

The culprit is not hard to find.

Oliver is sitting on his haunches, a paw on top of one of Arthur's cushions, a piece of fabric originating from it stuck to his whiskers. When he sees Arthur, he barks and thumps his tail. His eyes are liquid and his expression is a cross between, 'Who, me?' and 'So happy to see you'.

Arthur drops his keys. “This is because I got home late, isn't it?”

Oliver trots over to him, tail wagging, and puts both his paws, dirty paws to which various substances are sticking, all over Arthur's trousers legs. Arthur is wearing one of his best suits. It goes without saying that it no longer belongs to the 'best' category.

“Christ,” said Arthur, rubbing his sinuses. “Christ, Oliver.”

Prior to finding this shambles, Arthur just wanted to have a shower – hot –, order something in, possibly Chinese, and dive nose first into his bed. It seems that's not going to happen even though his eyes are gluing themselves shut of their own volition and he's not coherent enough to spell his own name.

After a dawn wake up call, a day spent at the office – hours wasted in litigation with an employee who got the sack – and a tube ride from hell, he only wants to rest. Apparently, the order of the day is quite different though.

There's evidently more that needs to be done.

Oliver pawing around him looking by turns guilty and too manically happy to see Arthur – which does nothing to make Arthur feel better about having left him cooped up –, Arthur changes into clothes he won't have to set on fire after he's done cleaning, and starts tidying up.

The cushions he throws away as unsalvageable. The same goes for the remains of his two vases. Before meeting an untimely end they were antiques. No more. He sighs and sends Oliver a glare. Oliver responds by barking happily.

Wearing gloves, he rakes up the rubbish Oliver has strewn all around the kitchen and living room and fills two new bin liners with it. When he's done, he mops the floors with disinfectant, just to stay on the safe side, and then once again with vinegar because you never know. Germs can be lethal.

Two hours later he's almost done and ready to face-plant anywhere. Even the ravaged sofa – bite marks, saliva sodden upholstery and all – looks alluring. But Oliver seems to be of a different mind. He barks loudly and this time less than happily and that puts paid to Arthur's dreams of sleep.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Arthur goes to retrieve the leash from the hook it hangs from.

Oliver understands immediately and before Arthur has got so much as a chance to change into decent clothes, Oliver has bounded over, describing circles around Arthur.

Arthur kneels down, clips the leash to Oliver's collar, and rubs his neck. “I'm sorry, mate,” he says. “I'm so sorry.”

Oliver swipes the side of his face with his tongue. It's hot and wet and his breath smells, logically, like dog.

Arthur chuckles tiredly, dabs at the wetness with his palm, and stands up. “Come on, boy,” he says. “Let's go for a walk.”

The walk in the park turns into an opportunity for Oliver to run off his pent-up energy. It's open season, really.

This also means that Arthur is in no position to call his dog back. Once unleashed, Oliver won't hear of going back to heel. Instead, ears thrown back by the wind, tongue lolling out, he just races round and round like a mad hamster.

At one time he sights a squirrel he pursues for the better part of twenty minutes. (Arthur is left wondering why Oliver finds them so enticing, seeing as he should have got used to them by now.) Then he gets unimaginably fascinated with a terribly ordinary bush, which he sniffs and sniffs till Arthur thinks his nose is due to fall over due to floral over-saturation.

It's midnight and Arthur's walked round and round the fairly extensive park at least twice, by the time Oliver stops mutinying and finally responds to a direct order. “Oliver, heel.”

Dog safely leashed again, Arthur hunkers down, pets his – muddy – side and says, “We're getting you a dog sitter tomorrow.”

Arthur doesn't get shut-eye time until Oliver has been properly towelled and dry-bathed.

The next day the following advert appears on the job vacancies section of Metro.

>   
> **Dog sitter sought**
> 
> Responsibilities include (but may not be limited to) feeding, providing fresh water, scooping up litter, walking dog at least once daily (1 hour +, excluding Sundays), picking up waste and proper disposal thereof.
> 
> Oliver is a vivacious, smart, pure-breed Golden Retriever. Can be extremely sweet and moderately obedient.
> 
> Sitter must have dog walking/training experience and be strong enough to keep the dog in line, since he tends to pull when met with a passer-by or other dog. Oliver also loves to chase balls so ideal sitter will have to be energetic.
> 
> Prefer to have walker/sitter live in the greater London area. Owning a vehicle suited to pet transportation will be considered a plus.
> 
> A flexible schedule is also ideal, as I will often be in need of someone to come and let dog out when working late. Equally, successful candidate must be able to provide overnight care if needed (I'm in business and often out of town) as well as agree to be on call at any time.
> 
> Applicants will have to sit through an interview and submit a full CV. They will be provided with information on commands and supplied with a list of expectations. Hire is subject to careful interview and a demonstration of the applicant's handling skills.
> 
> Please, contact my PA at 020 74677 4567, for an appointment, CV sifting pending.
> 
> Services needed for: Dogs  
>  £30- £40 per hour

 

Three hours later Arthur's PA's phone starts ringing unceasingly.

 

****

 

The knock is short and sharp. “Come in,” he says.

Leon ambles in, a few coloured folders in his hands. He's making a beeline for Arthur's desk when he stops short, cocking his head to the left. “That's a dog,” he says, pointing his folders at Oliver.

“Yes,” Arthur answers. “My dog, to be exact.”

“What's your dog doing on your office sofa?” Leon asks. “I don't think he's supposed to be here at all.”

Arthur puts down his pen and lets out a sigh. “He's there because he's taken to chewing out furniture when I'm not home.”

“If your father sees it, he won't be happy,” says Leon, frowning. “That I can tell.”

Arthur knows that strictly speaking he's violating company policy. But there must be perks to being the CEO's son. Arthur's ready to do anything in his power for Cam Lot but he wants to be able to still hold on to the little things in his life. That's what he's got left. “Then we won't be telling him.”

“He'll find out.”

“I don't think so,” says Arthur, pushing his swivel chair sideways. “It's only for today. I've arranged a series of meetings with prospective dog sitters. I've decided I'll do it in one day and interview them here.” He taps his desk. Anything else isn't an option, honestly. His diary is full till Easter and he can't very well ask people to be okay with being interviewed at midnight. He might have offered excellent pay, but there are limits. “That way I won't have to bring Oliver again.”

Leon sits across from him. “Well, I won't tell. You know that.”

Arthur scans Leon's face. He doesn’t think Leon would denounce him to his father. For one thing Arthur's the one who found Leon his job; for another Leon would be a fool to trade loyalties. Yet, that kind of thing happens often enough, so Arthur prepares himself for just that. However that one goes down, Arthur won't be facing a big hurdle. In the grand scheme of things the matter in hand is unimportant enough for Father not do anything more than rant about it anyway. Father has bigger fish to fry and Arthur has a responsibility towards the creature he adopted as well as the company.

He's about to tell Leon he believes him even if that's not wholly true, when he notices that Leon's expression hasn't changed. He's picking at his beard as furtively as he was upon finding out about Oliver's presence. “Leon, is there something else?”

Leon pushes the folders he was carrying across Arthur's desk. “I wanted to give you these.”

“You could have also mailed them.”

“Hey, some little exercise will do me good,” Leon says with a chuckle. “Can't always sit in my desk chair.”

“Leon,” Arthur says, warningly. He's not a fool and doesn't appreciate being treated as such. “Fess up.”

“Uh,” Leon says, extracting an envelope from his jacket's inner pocket. “This was delivered to Legal by mistake.”

Arthur takes the envelope. Going by the stamping, it looks official. He uses his letter opener to tear the envelope's flap open and a bunch of photocopied documents spills out. Arthur picks them up. “My decree absolute,” he says, reading the topmost paper. “I'm a divorced man. Officially.”

Leon winces. “Yeah, I thought it would be something like that.”

There's no time for either of them to suffer from any pangs of embarrassment following that statement, for George enters after having politely knocked. “Sir, the applicants have arrived.”

“Show them in one by one,” he says, secreting the letter in his drawer.

“Well,” Leon says, getting on his feet. “I'll leave you to your dog sitter selection.”

Oliver sniffs at the mention of the word 'dog'.

As Leon exits, George peeks his head in and says. “Ms Freya Waters, sir.”

“Let her in,” Arthur says.

Ms Waters is a very diminutive girl. She's got a very pleasant shy smile that would induce Arthur to hire her on the spot, but her size tells him she might not be the perfect candidate for walking around a dog as big as Oliver.

“Please, Ms Waters, take a seat,” says Arthur, swiping his palm at the chair Leon's just vacated.

Ms Waters sits on the edge of the seat, clutching at her tiny purse. She doesn't meet his eyes.

Arthur opens the file containing her CV and skims it. “I see you're a babysitter,” he says. “What makes you think you can look after a dog as opposed to a child?”

Ms Waters looks up for a second. “Dogs and children both need caretakers.”

“In a way, yes,” says Arthur. He doesn't find this untrue. However, he needs to test her. “But children are also very different.”

“Yes, they are.”

“For one they generally don't tug on leashes.” Arthur flicks a glance at Oliver. “He may seem quiet but he's not always like that.” Arthur suspects Oliver is calm today because of the new environment and because Arthur's not left him alone in his flat. “Would you mind walking him around the room?”

Ms Water stands. Arthur gets Oliver's leash from the door knob he's tied it round and hands it to Ms Waters. Ms Waters turns it in her hand as if it's an uncommon object, lets out a big sigh, then walks over and attaches the leash to the collar. Oliver looks up and gives out a big yawn. “Come on, boy,” Ms Waters says.

Oliver doesn't move.

Ms Waters gives the leash an experimental tug. Oliver stays put but the leash slips upwards, past Oliver's neck and almost up to his ears. “Come on, dog.”

Oliver makes a sound like he's choking but he's not getting off the sofa.

Arthur forks his fingers through his hair. “That's enough, Ms Waters.”

“But,” she says, “I haven't even tried to--”

Arthur spreads his hands out. “No need. I've seen enough.”

Ms Waters' lip trembles and she lets go of the leash. “Then I suppose I haven't got the job?”

“Maybe kids are better for you," Arthur says as gently as he can. "I'm sure you're a fine baby-sitter”

The second candidate is a boy. He has dark wavy hair and big cat-like eyes. His name is Mordred Jones and he half smiles all the time. He's actually dog-sat before, or so his CV purports, but he seems much more focused on Cam Lot and the Pendragons than he is on his prospective duties. “I mean it's a big company, isn't it? It's fascinating.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur says, “I'm sure you can read about that in any finance magazine. But I was rather more interested in your previous experience with animals.”

“Um, yes,” Mordred says. “I grew up around three dogs.” He looks around Arthur's office. “I'm sure you made Cam Lot what it is. It is a great achievement, Mr Pendragon.”

“Yes, right,” Arthur says, pushing himself up from his sitting position. He offers Mordred his hand to shake and says he will consider his application.

The third applicant is a middle aged man who introduces himself as Sarrum. “Ha, that's the beast,” he says, eyes falling on Oliver. “I used to raise Dobermans. Great fighting dogs they are. Had a lot of them in my time.”

“What happened to them?” Arthur asks.

Mr Sarrum waves his hand. “Was closed down due to some stupid sanitary regulations.”

Arthur frowns deeply. “I see.”

“It was just the fucking RSPCA ratting on me.”

“I see.”

When Sarrum tries to pet Oliver, Oliver growls and shows his teeth.

Arthur in his turn shows Sarrum the door, telling him, “I'll let you know about the job.”

After Sarrum Arthur sees another ten people and one's worse than the next. Most of them harp on whether they're really going to get £40 an hour, question his requests, and show meagre CVs. Only two have experience as dog sitters and the one who seems the most promising, insists on wanting two free days a week and a series of fringe benefits.

It's almost six and time to go home when Arthur realises that none of the applicants is any good. He's sure he'll get new applications if he waits but the matter is rather urgent. He can't take Oliver with him everywhere and he can't fail him as he has recently. “Are you sure there's no one else, George?”

George takes a perfunctory peek at the space behind him. “No, sir, the anteroom is quite empty.”

“I suppose this was a failure of a day then,” Arthur says, standing to pack up and go.

“I'm sorry it turned out to be that way, sir. I might publish your advert in other papers and--”

“Hi, hello, hi,” says a voice coming from behind George. Since George is leaning in the doorway it sounds disembodied. “I'm not late, am I? I got lost looking for this floor.”

George turns around. “Hello, I presume you here to interview for the position of dog walker?”

“Erm, yes,” says the voice. Its owner sounds young and vivacious. “Am I too late?”

“I'll ask Mr Pendragon,” George says before Arthur can tell him to drop it. George looks at him, still looking like Cerberus before the gates of the Underworld, and adds, “Mr Pendragon, there's a young man--”

“I know, I heard,” Arthur says. “Let him in.”

George's brow becomes clouded. He cants his head at the new arrival and says, “I suggest you don't arrive late for any future job interviews or I'll easily predict a career in professional unemployment for you.”

“I said I was sorry,” the man behind George says. “Now, if I could go and have that interview?”

George makes way for the new arrival before retiring to his cubicle outside.

The new arrival is tall and thin, slightly gawky, in that post-adolescent way some young men sport. He's wiry though. Arthur can't tell whether he's strong enough to check Oliver in his wildest moods but there's potential in those shoulders at least. He's... promising.

The young man bounds over to Arthur's desk, shakes his hand. His handshake is all about energy, all kinetic flair. At least the man is communicative. Now if he'd just applied for a PR position Arthur'd feel more confident.

He eyes the piles of CVs on his desk. “So you're...”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, forgot about that,” the man says, “Merlin Emrys.”

As Arthur reads his CV, Merlin doesn't stand still. He goes over to the sofa to make friends with Oliver.

He's the first to have thought to do that.

“So you're a uni student,” Arthur says. “Will you have time for looking after Oliver?”

Merlin hunkers down and lets Oliver sniff his hands, before smiling and burying them deep in his fur. “You're a beautiful pup, aren't you?” Merlin says, then ostensibly to Arthur, “Sure, I can carry my textbooks around. I have more free time than most people.”

Oliver starts rubbing his nose against Merlin's arms.

“You've had experience working at animal shelters, I see,” Arthur says, flicking a page. The CV's lay-out is abysmal but the contents are interesting.

Oliver is currently licking Merlin's neck and thumping his tail. “Yeah,” Merlin says through giggles. “Yeah, part time ever since I was fourteen.”

“You have a couple of letters of recommendation.”

“Yeah.” Merlin is currently rubbing Oliver between the ears. This prompts Oliver to lick him all over the face. “From the shelter's head worker and their vet.”

“They sing your praises.”

“I like animals.”

Arthur can't help noticing that animals, or at least his dog, like Merlin too. “You've also dog-sat before.”

Merlin gives Oliver a final pat on the head and comes to sit opposite Arthur. “More like dog walked. For miles and miles. Keeps you fit.”

“And that raises a question,” Arthur says. “If you've read the ad, you'll know I require the services of someone strong enough to restrain Oliver. Do you think you can do that?”

Oliver leaves the sofa to come sit on his haunches next to Merlin, head on his thigh. Merlin is ruffling his fur when he shoots Arthur a wide-eyed look and deadpans, “I'm stronger than I look.”

Arthur smacks his lips together. “And you're okay with the conditions?”

“I'm very fine with them or I wouldn't have turned up,” Merlin says.

“But you did so late,” Arthur tells him, shooting him a reproachful look. “Is that going to become a habit?”

Merlin chuckles and as he does his eyes go smaller. “No, I actually got here on time. I got lost in the building, small thanks to the security guy downstairs.”

Arthur considers for a minute. Merlin's the best candidate so far. He's got the experience, Oliver likes him, and he says he can do everything that is required of him. That's a first. The other people he's met today have all insisted on their own conditions or made faces at Arthur's requests. He could wait and organise a second round up of interviews but that'd take time he doesn't have. He'd also have to take Oliver with him once again. Unless he manages to do it on a Sunday. He taps his pen against his desk's surface. “You have no objections as to contract stipulations?” Arthur says, “In the shape of working hours or remuneration or...”

“No, I'm okay with it all,” Merlin says, slouching in his chair. Oliver is now balancing a paw on his thigh, in order to, probably, climb into Merlin's lap.

“Right,” Arthur says, “My dog seems partial to you.”

“That's because I look after my neighbour's poodle,” he says, a grin spreading on his lips. “He can probably smell it on me.”

“That's not on your CV.” Arthur paws at the pages.

“That's because it's just a favour I'm doing a kind lady.”

In the face of that Arthur can only say, “You're hired. Conditionally. At the end of the week I'll confirm your contract or not depending on how you do.”

Merlin has leapt over and is shaking his hand again.

 

**** 

 

On the first day of Merlin's 'probation' period, Arthur makes an effort to get home early to catch Merlin on the job. It's not that he doesn't trust him but it pays to be sure. He wouldn't act differently if this were Cam Lot they were talking about and Athur loves Oliver just as much as he does the company he's supposed to inherit.

When he comes in he can at least say that his flat is as tidy as when he left it early in the morning. Nothing is out of place.

On the floor, Oliver and Merlin are playing tug of war over a twisted piece of rag Arthur can't identify. Hopefully, it doesn't belong to his kitchen. Oliver has it clutched between his fangs; Merlin has his end wrapped around his hand. They seem to be even in terms of who's winning until Arthur steps inside, Merlin gets distracted, and Oliver uses his inattention to wrench his big head away, making Merlin lose his hold. As he does, he bounces backwards.

For a moment Arthur is convinced Merlin's going to hit his head on the floor; he drops his briefcase and strides forward in an attempt to stop it from happening. But it doesn't. Merlin arches his neck and that's a save. He even laughs joyfully when Oliver puts his paws on his chest in a kind of triumphant leon pose.

“I hope that rag isn't from my kitchen,” Arthur says, stopping short in the middle of the room.

Merlin looks up at him, Oliver still half on top of him. “No, it comes from my place, no sweat.”

“I hope it wasn't something you needed.” The rag is lying on the floor, Oliver having forgotten it in his enthusiasm to play with Merlin. “Because Oliver's slobbered all over it.”

“No, wasn't planning on getting it back,” Merlin says, ruffling Oliver's mane. “And I saved your furniture.”

“Oliver's done obedience training.”

“I noticed,” Merlin says, picking himself up and looking for his shoes. “He answers standard orders. Except he only does it when he wants to. Which is when he's not feeling slighted. I had to pry him from a table leg and entice him with a few games before we were on the same page.”

Oliver spins happily around, circling round Arthur's legs before going back to Merlin.

“What does that even mean?” Arthur says. “That you think I'm a bad owner?”

Merlin flattens himself on the floor and reaches his arm out under the dresser. Arthur can't fathom what he's doing until Merlin retrieves a shoe, a battered canvas trainer that's seen better days. He sits up, leg bent, and puts it on, fingers flying on the laces. “No,” he says, looking away from his shoe-tying to gaze at Arthur meaningfully. “Just a busy one. And Oliver wants to gets lot of love.”

“So you don't think I'm capable of giving that?”

Merlin smiles softly and so much Arthur thinks he might be soft in the head. “No, I think you're very capable of that. That is what Oliver is missing. He's experienced it and now he's missing it. Hence the acting up.”

Arthur huffs.

Merlin finds his other shoe under the carpet -- Arthur doesn't particularly want to know -- and puts it on. “Well, I'll be going now. Unless you want me to take Oliver out for a second spin?”

“No,” Arthur says. “I can take it from here.”

Coat on, Merlin says, “Good night, Mr Pendragon.”

Left alone, Arthur does take Oliver out, at least to prove that he's as good at humouring his own dog as a perfect stranger, then he feeds him dinner and settles with him on the sofa. TV blaring on, Arthur asks, “What do you think? Should I call my lawyer? Or maybe Gwen?”

Oliver barks. “You're right. I can do it another day.”

They watch the Baftas instead,

On the second day Merlin isn't in when Arthur makes it back home. The flat is spotless though so Arthur doesn't worry too much. His premises are in order and he only need fear for his pet's well-being.

He merely sedately paces until eleven when Merlin bounds in, Oliver not even on his leash but following him dutifully around as if Merlin was holding a piece of sausage Oliver was homing in on.

Arthur puts down his mobile.

“We had a fun run in the park,” Merlin tells Arthur. “Oliver was brilliant. Did you know he keeps your pace if you're jogging?”

Arthur didn't. He's never tried jogging with his dog. If he goes, he goes alone. Or he takes Oliver to the park so Oliver can let off steam. The two together... He's never made it happen. “Of course, I did,” he says though.

“Great,” Merlin says, not reproachful. “Would you mind if I got a glass of water though? I'm parched. Zombie out of the desert parched.”

Now Arthur notices that Merlin's hair is droopy with sweat and that he's still red in the face. It's fairly evident though so it's somehow strange that that wasn't the first thing Arthur took in. Perhaps he didn't because he makes a point not to scrutinise Merlin's oddities. His quirks. He knows Merlin has a few. It wouldn't be polite of Arthur to linger on them, so he just avoids looking. As it is, he huffs the smallest of laughs and points out the obvious. “If you were a zombie you'd be dead. The dead aren't sentient, therefore you wouldn't be thirsty.”

“I'd be thirsty for brains,” Merlin says, going cross-eyed out of mirth. “But right, okay, stumbling-out-of-the-desert thirsty then.”

Arthur opens the fridge door, giving Merlin the choice. “I have Coke, sparkling water, and energy drinks from the rare times I manage to hit the gym anymore.”

Merlin dithers over his choice. “Why don't you have time anymore?”

Arthur rubs his neck, working out a crick. “Work. I work all the time now. Or I wouldn't have hired you.”

Merlin uncaps a bottle of soda-water. “What about the weekends?”

“I'm not a uni-student anymore, Merlin,” Arthur says tiredly, snappishly. He needs to work on that. He shouldn't react to a boy like Merlin as he does. The more so since he has a suspicion that Merlin's poking his nose in things that don't concern him doesn't originate in spite. “Work isn't just going to the office and clock in the hours. There's things I need to smooth out. Reading I need to do. Calls that will have to be made. Planning to be taken into account.”

Merlin lowers his head. “Sorry, yeah, didn't think. Sorry.” He takes a gulp of his drink directly out of the bottle. “I just hope you do get a bit of time for yourself every now and then.”

Sweat breaks over Arthur's forehead and heat climbs to his cheeks. For a moment he contemplates telling Merlin that he won't be signing any contract with him soon. That he's laid off. But then he realises how petty that would sound when Merlin's been good at dealing with Oliver. And also just benignly nosy. He counts from ten and then says, “If you could take Oliver to the vet tomorrow? He's due for teeth cleaning.”

“Sure,” Merlin says, “no problem. Just leave me the address and I'll take him.”

On the morrow Arthur makes sure Merlin gets the address by texting him the coordinates. He receives a :) in response that is at first irritating then not so much. He supposes Merlin's young and that's just a light-hearted, casual answer. Theirs is a business-like transaction but it doesn't come with all the trappings of real City meetings, so Arthur accepts it for what it is.

What with the vet appointment and Arthur's division's busy schedule, Arthur doesn't see Merlin on the third day at all but on the fourth he runs into him as he's leaving his flat. “I tired him out,” Merlin says, hand on the banister, hoodie up, a foot poised for descent. “You'll find him splayed out on the floor.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” says Arthur.

Merlin smiles widely at him, puts earbuds in his ears and thunders down the stairs, calling out, “Hope you have a very nice night, Mr Pendragon.”

When Arthur gets into his flat he finds Oliver on his blanket, where Merlin said he'd be, paws parallel, head resting on them, eyes closed to slits. Arthur can hardly believe his highly enthusiastic dog is finally as quiet as a sleepy puppy.

“Oh, well,” Arthur says, scratching at his temple, before setting out to make himself some dinner, “that will save me a run to the park.”

He dines on broccoli and Filet Mignon, washed down by red wine.

The next day, roundabout the same time as the day before, Arthur finds Merlin sitting cross legged on his sofa, shoes off, a textbook in his lap, Oliver drooling over his trouser leg, as he quietly lies by Merlin's side.

Not realising Arthur's there, Merlin doesn't look up from his reading. Eyes on his book, he lifts his hand, lowers it palm down to Oliver's head, gives him a pat, and then turns the page.

Arthur has come to an executive decision. He may regret it later but for now it seems like a good choice. “Merlin.”

Merlin's head snaps up. “God, you're here." He puts his hand on his heart. "I didn't hear you.”

“I don't know how you missed me turning the key in the lock,” Arthur says, dangling his keys.

“Erm, I was studying?” Merlin's eyebrows go up just as his shoulders do; they narrow as he elongates himself. “Sorry?”

Arthur swipes a palm in the air. “No worries. Um, listen, I wanted to talk to you.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Merlin asks. “I know I was a bit liberal with the premises.” Merlin's shoes are in fact in the kitchen while the rest of him isn't. And he's barefoot on Arthur's good sofa. “But if you want to lay down rules that's okay by me.”

“No, Merlin,” Arthur says, pocketing his keys again and shimmying out his jacket. “I just wanted to say that I don't need any more proof of performance.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, lips turning down.

“Because you're hired, indefinitely.”

Arthur isn't expecting Merlin to throw his book aside and come and hug him but that's what Merlin does.

 

**** 

 

It starts with a little bit of sneezing over breakfast. Even Oliver barks in sympathy. It gets worse as he spends the morning poring over a pile of documents that have to be analysed before they get approved and sent to the board.

When George tells him, “Your wife is here, sir. She says she wants a word,” Arthur is already half contemplating calling it quits (and would if the job in hand wasn't so important).

Arthur blows his nose so he won't look like a wreck with a puffy, runny nose when she comes in and tells George, “Don't let her wait, George. Show her in.”

Gwen hasn't changed a lot since the last time he saw her. Her hair's shorter and she's wearing different type clothes – these ones aren't the same flowery ones she used to wear at the beginning of their relationship – but she's herself at her core with her soft smile and kind eyes.

“Hello, Arthur,” she says, tipping her head up. “I hope I'm not taking precious time away from your work.”

Arthur sets his files and folders aside. “You have all my attention.”

She sets her handbag down on his desk and, after having smoothed down her puffy skirt, she sits opposite him at his desk. “Since our financial settlement isn't in place yet, I wanted to talk about it.”

“Gwen,” Arthur says, wanting to pinch his nostrils but refraining, “you know I'd rather not discuss money matters.”

“Arthur, let's be practical,” Gwen says with a frown. “I know you were taught these things are distasteful. It comes with your background. But I'm different and I feel I need to tackle the subject.”

Arthur lets out a sigh. “Right, my background, we're back at that.”

“Arthur,” she says, lengthening the vowel. She sounds long suffering. “I'm not here to open up a can of worms. I don't want to argue.”

“But you made it a point to stress how spoilt I am.”

Gwen shakes her head. “No, and you know it.” She exhales. “Arthur, we spent three years ignoring our problems and acting like there was never a single one. It's over now. I've learnt to speak out more about these issues. So I can point out the things I'm unhappy with and have a go at being happy. I no longer want for things to be surface perfect. I want to fight for them to be truly perfect.” Her tone becomes gentler, richer. “I'm doing this for our own good. So there's a difference in our upbringings. No reason to hide that. It's constructive to point it out.”

Arthur still feels reproached but he decides not to point that out. He would sound childish. “I didn't mean it the way you thought I did.”

“Like money and property doesn't matter?” she asks, cocking her head.

“Like I'm the king of all you survey.”

She looks right and left. “But you are in here and people justifiably let you think that. What other notion should you get away with?”

Arthur nods his head. He knows there's a crease right above his nose, he can feel the skin puckering there, but can't stop it from forming. “I just meant to make things easy. They haven't been this past year.”

“I know,” Gwen says, looking down, then fierily up again. “I don't want to make them more difficult. That's not why I've come.”

Arthur closes his eyes, a headache forming behind his eyes. Must be the flu. “What's your request?”

“The house in Dorset,” says Gwen, her eyes going round as soon as she's said that. She lifts her palm. “I mean, I don't want that without offering anything back. I'm going to trade you my new car and the use of my old uni flat for it.”

Arthur winces at his headache. He thinks it might have extended to the rear of his head too. When he re-opens his eyes to give Gwen an answer he finds himself returned to a a world of blinding light and disturbing shapes. His head is swimming, and the spot he picked out earlier as the source of all pain is pulsating. He closes his eyes briefly again, his hand going to his brow. “You can have it.”

“I know it's not a fair trade,” Gwen says, “but I put lots of work in that house, re-did it in a way I can apply in my line of work. I want to go live there. It'd be inspiring job-wise.”

“You can have it,” says Arthur, his words coming out slow. He squints. “I'm sure our lawyers will come up with the suitable paperwork.”

“Arthur.” Gwen pushes herself to her feet. “Are you all right?”

“No,” says Arthur, finding the sound of his own voice too loud, “I think I'm not.”

“I'll call George. I'll get help.”

What happens next is kind of a blur. George comes in, making more noise than Arthur would have thought him capable of. Gwen says something Arthur doesn't quite catch. George's voice sounds amplified as he says, “I'll get a company driver to take him home.”

Gwen says, “Yes, do.”

Arthur finds himself laid horizontally on the sofa, not quite understanding how he got there in the first place. He only knows that one moment he's closed his eyes to prevent his stubborn office lighting from making him feel queasy, and the next he is in the back of one of the company cars, the driver meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror, saying, “You'll be home in no time, sir.”

That proves to be at least true even if Arthur has no proper sense of time right about now. A month could have passed or just two minutes for all that he can focus on it elapsing. A few green lights shine on, a few bends in the road roll along (causing Arthur to nearly puke) and they're in Arthur's flat. Arthur just remembers the stairs looking like much more of a work-out than he's ever experienced them to be and then he's traded one sofa for another.

Except this one is at home and Arthur believes he might rightfully sleep for one or two days if he only manages to close his eyes. The front door closes, probably the chauffeur leaving, just as he lets his eyelids slip closed.

Some indeterminate amount of time later he's woken by the key turning in the lock. Arthur squints at his surroundings, finding that the light has gone down and that therefore his headache is a bit less of a curse from angry gods. He'd be happy about that if his throat wasn't on fire or if he didn't feel clammy all over. “I don't need to be driven anywhere,” Arthur tells the door, which opens to show Merlin and Oliver.

So it's not the chauffeur back again.

As soon as he's into the flat Oliver rushes over to Arthur, paws slapping the tiled floor, and comes to sit by the sofa, licking madly at his hand.

Merlin, God blast him, shouts out an amused, “Down, Ollie, I think your master was sleeping.”

“Wasn't,” Arthur slurs, though it clearly isn't true. It's just that he's used to be working at this time on a week-day and lounging on his sofa makes him look as though he's lazy. “I was resting my eyes.”

“You look ill.” Merlin comes up to him and places his cool palm on Arthur's forehead.

Arthur scowls at him and it's by way of scowling that he notices that Merlin has two big paw prints on his mostly white tee. “And you look as though Oliver's walked all over you,” he says.

“You're slurring, you know that?” Merlin moves his hand from Arthur's forehead to his neck. His touch is pleasing, cool, gentle. “You're burning up. You're definitely coming down with something.”

“Aspirin,” Arthur says while he inexplicably leans into the touch. “I need aspirin and some blessed calm.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, wearing a smile Arthur reads as too sweet and motherly. “I'll get you your meds if you tell me where they are.”

“Kitchen,” Arthur says, “kitchen cabinet.”

“I'll be right back with you,” Merlin says, and with that he trots over to the kitchen. Arthur turns his head to look at him, finds out his neck aches, and straightens it, so he can't see what Merlin's at. View of the ceiling notwithstanding, he can still hear Merlin pottering about, opening cabinet doors, the crystalline sound of glassware being aired, and the fizzy sound of effervescent pills dissolving. Then Merlin is back, looming over him, glass in hand, arm outstretched. His torso is also bare.

Maybe Arthur's hallucinating. “You're a shirt short,” Arthur says, watching the long lean lines of Merlin's chest, the dusting of hair and the little ruddy ovals that are his nipples. Shirtless, Merlin looks good though not perfect; he has biceps and some muscle definition but no pecs or abs.

Arthur finds the view incredibly interesting all the same and almost reaches a hand out to touch. He experiences a strange urge, a desire to splay his hand over Merlin's heart to see if he can sense its beat. To feel his nipple flatten under his palm. He even imagines a dream-scape in which he's touching his lips to it and other things happen.

God, he must have it bad. The flu, that is. Spanish one levels. He must be dying. He's daydreaming about touching his dog sitter.

He grabs the glass offered to him and downs the aspirin. This is an emergency.

He isn't more centred once he's downed it but at least he isn't doing anything improper that would get him sued for harassment. He's still staring though.

“Oh,” Merlin says, swiping a palm down his chest. “You're right. That's no way to parade around. I wanted to ask you if you had a shirt I could borrow?”

A drop of sweat makes its way down the side of Arthur's face. “Sure,” he says, voice rusty. “Try my wardrobe.”

“I'll just get an old tee, no worries.”

“You can borrow something better than a tee.”

“No need,” Merlin tells him, re appropriating the glass. “I'm a pretty laid-back type.”

Arthur makes an 'O' with his mouth; mostly because he can't really process anything – what with the fever he's running and all that flesh on show. “Urgh.”

“Right,” Merlin says, “I'll go get it.”

Merlin puts the glass in the sink and takes a detour that leads him into Arthur's bedroom, followed closely by a tail-whumping Oliver.

Without Merlin to distract him with his nakedness, Arthur makes himself into as much as a ball as he can, so his muscles won't ache, and turns to face the sofa, arms around himself.

He feels cold and wants a blanket but getting up to get it is too much hard work, so he whimpers softly and stays put.

Until a hand lands on his forehead again and Merlin says, “I'll get you a blanket and some pillows.”

He comes back with a fleece blanket, and two pillows from Arthur's bed. He spreads the pillow over Arthur's cramping limbs and puts the pillows under his head.

Arthur sighs contentedly.

“You're a wreck,” says Merlin, who's now wearing a tee Arthur bought at a concert he went to with Gwen. “I don't have the heart to go and leave you alone.”

“There's Oliver,” Arthur says, soliciting a bark from his dog.

“Ollie can't call an ambulance if you get worse,” says Merlin. “I'll sit here with you. Stay the night.”

“First,” Arthur points out in a slow, slurring voice designed not to test his tonsils, “my dog's called Oliver. Not Ollie. Secondly--” He coughs. “I can look after myself.”

“Riiight,” Merlin says. “Did you know that dogs respond better to shorter names?”

“That's undignified,” Arthur harrumphs, folding his body so that all corners of the blanket are covering him.

“And I don't have the heart to leave you like this, I told you.”

“'M not a dog; don't need a sitter,” Arthur says, turning into Merlin, who's sat on the sofa, on the little bit of edge that's not encumbered with Arthur's body.

Merlin gives him a soft, benevolent smile. “No, you don't. But you're treating Ollie better than you treat yourself.” At the mention Ollie pushes his muzzle against Arthur's neck. “So I'm going to take care of you. Even if you don't think you deserve it.”

Arthur would reply but he finds his thoughts are scattering and that he is, inevitably, falling asleep again.

 

*****

 

Arthur rolls onto his side, wanting to feel cool, to wipe the perspiration that's sheeting him form head to foot. Springs creak under him. He face-plants into the upholstery and that's when it occurs to him that he's slept on the sofa.

The light outside is very faint and pallid, still tinged with blue. It's not even dawn yet.

Merlin is sleeping on top of a blanket spread out on the floor, head on a pillow, a second blanket sandwiching him in. His hand is tucked under his head and Arthur doesn't really know how he's not cramping up badly. He seems content though, or as much as someone can when they're unconscious and peacefully dozing.

Although he doesn't want to rouse Merlin, Arthur moves, needing the bathroom. That wakes Ollie, whose senses are always on the alert wherever Arthur's concerned. The dog comes patting over, gives one big yawn and puts his head on Arthur's knee. “Shh, Ollie,” Arthur murmurs. “Poor guy's asleep.”

He tips his head at Merlin. Ollie makes a much lower noise, more like jaws snapping together. Arthur gives him a pat and pushes himself up.

Slowly, limbs aching, he pads over to the bathroom, splaying his palm out so as to tell Ollie to be good. Ollie is still a young retriever and he gets rumbustious in the mornings unless he's told to behave. Merlin deserves his shut-eye.

In the bathroom, Arthur flushes tentatively, not yanking the chain too strenously in the hopes of not waking Merlin, but once he's slogged back into the living room he finds that his preventative measures have failed completely and that Merlin has, in fact, woken.

He props himself up on his elbow. “Arthur, er, Mr Pendragon, how are you feeling?”

“Arthur is fine,” Arthur tells Merlin because he doesn't want to sound stuck up. “I'm a little better, thank you. Well enough to go to work.”

Merlin studies him closely. “I don't really think you should.”

Arthur bristles. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Actually,” Merlin says, standing and dropping the blanket covering him. “I do.” He's wearing Arthur's shirt and chequered boxers, his legs looking long and spindly. As if he's a bit of a spider that needs saving from the clutches of an aracnophobic broom wielder. It's endearing. “I think you were pretty ill last night. Even now you're looking as if you're about to keel over and that's after you've taken meds.” His voice gentles. “Take some time off or you're going to end up like yesterday. Believe me. My uncle was a nurse before he retired; I have a fair idea of how to treat the flu.”

“And I still maintain you don't know what you're talking about,” Arthur says, wanting to go lie back on the sofa but knowing he's got to get into gear and face the day. “I get your perspective. You're a uni student and if you skip a lesson nothing will happen. In my case an entire company depends on what I do. I must go into work.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I'll act as if you didn't put me down and say this: I think there's plenty of people in your company completely capable of running the place without you for a day.”

Arthur brings a hand to his temple. “I don't think so. I'm the one with the decisional power.”

Merlin moves over to him, placing a hand on his side as if he's supporting him. “The power to make bad decisions, you mean.”

Arthur's eyebrow twitches. “Bad-- bad?” He's never made a wholly bad one in his life and that because he's conscientious.

“You can hardly decide in the state you're in.”

“I'll make the effort.”

“At the risk of screwing it up for others?” Merlin arches an eyebrow and when he gets no response past some spluttering, he drags Arthur back towards the sofa and makes him sit down. With Arthur there and within reach to play, Ollie climbs the sofa and spreads himself across Arthur's knees. He's no longer a puppy, is heavy, and shouldn't be doing this, but Arthur doesn't want to shoo him away. He caresses him instead.

Merlin smiles at the soppy picture they must cut. “That's the image of comfort and relaxation I was thinking of and much more like it.”

He raises both hands as if to tell Arthur to stay put (and not to object), then crosses over to the table and picks up the phone. He dials, then Arthur hears him say, “Ellie, hello, yes, I realise how early it is but I was wondering, could you take notes for me? Can't come. No. Something's come up.”

“Oh, no, you're not,” says Arthur, “you're not skipping lectures for me.”

“Nothing, Ellie,” Merlin says, ploughing over him, “just background noise. Yeah, yeah.” He smiles like a madman. “I love you more than I can say. Thank you, Ellie.”

He hangs up.

Arthur folds his arms and pushes his lower lip out. “I'm still going. Even if you're putting your education on the line like a good samaritan. That's just a wasted day for you.”

Merlin laughs. “Please, you'd only do a bad job and be in the way. Take a day off. Take more aspirin. Relax. Tomorrow you'll be in top form.”

“I'm not paying you extra to baby-sit me, if that's what you're after.”

Merlin's face falls. All the way. His eyes dim and that's when Arthur realises that they usually always twinkle. His mouth becomes one dour line when it's generally stretched upwards at the corners. Even his shoulders take a downward arc. Arthur feels horrible about that. He's always said what he means and with few regrets. He doesn't care about being liked. He appreciates professionalism, honesty, and home truths, even if they belie a cynical outlook. He now regrets speaking though.

“I see,” Merlin says. “You think that...”

“No, I don't, not really,” says Arthur, uncrossing his arms to squeeze his clogged nose. (His nostrils do not need any more obstruction.) “That was out of line. You're right. I think I'll stay home. But you don't need to stay.”

Merlin dimples up again. “No, I don't need to,” Merlin says, walking backwards towards the kitchen. “But I want to. All right? No biggie. I'll make you breakfast.”

Merlin does make him breakfast. He burns it too. His first try at making scrambled eggs ends up in the bin. And even his second does. But he manages tea, buttered toast and apple mash just fine. He also makes Arthur lunch. Even though in a haze caused by the meds -- Merlin's given him a second aspirin and antihistamines to help with his nose -- Arthur can't help but appreciate the effort. It warms him a little even though he has to wonder what he's done to deserve it.

Merlin is just there, lending a hand in case it's needed, and doing his own thing if Arthur closes his eyes for a minute – or a couple of hours – without needing any attention in return. He's a great nurse.

So much so that by night-fall Merlin looks tired and Arthur feels much better. The second aspirin's killed the fever and he can actually muddle his way through a thought process. Victory.

Merlin's stomach is rumbling with hunger, when Arthur, says, “You can go home, you know.”

Merlin's sitting on the floor, texting. He looks up and says, “Are you sure?”

“I feel better.”

Merlin checks him over and nods. “It's really no bother though.” He looks away, cheeks pink, lower lip trapped under the grip of his teeth.

Arthur smiles. “I know. Thank you.”

“So you want me to hang around?” Merlin asks genially, his voice going up. It goes to a happy alto.

“No, Merlin, I want you to go home and relax.” He stands and walks over to where Merlin's sitting. He offers him a hand up, which Merlin takes. “You've helped. So I guess I should return the favour and thank you.” He palms his nape and then runs his hand through his hair from the back up. “So, thank you, Merlin. You shouldn't have.”

Merlin says, “You're welcome and I really, really should've. You looked horrible yesterday.” Merlin clamps his mouth shut then starts again. “I shouldn't have said that. I mean, you're usually all dapper and handsome.” Merlin goes slightly red and stutters the next words, “And yesterday, sorry to say, you weren't all that dapper. Erm, so, yeah, I thought, he must be feeling terrible and...” Merlin takes his hand to shake and then, as Arthur grins at Merlin's word vomit and strange antics, he kisses Arthur's cheek.

It's there and soon gone, a fleeting brush that causes Arthur to rethink his whole opinion concerning his fever being gone. Because either he's got that still, or he's got hot flushes, (he's not hormonal, for god's sake) or he's just felt something extremely teenagerish for the young man in front of him. Who's younger than him, and too much of a happy go lucky, goofy man-child to actually be considered as anything other than a lovely person whom Arthur's hired to look after his dog. Nothing more. In any way, shape, or form. Someone who's also picking up his gear, including the shoes he's not been wearing, (what's with Merlin and his shoe antipathy, by the way) and making for the door.

“Merlin,” says Arthur, trailing off, incapable, as he's finding himself to be, to say anything meaningful.

Merlin opens the door and stumbles into Gwen, who, judging by her raised hand – the other's wrapped around a food container – was about to knock before Merlin sprang towards it. “Hello, I, um, am Gwen? Arthur's... never mind.” She makes wide eyes at Merlin putting down his rucksack in order to slip on his trainers. “I came round to give Arthur this.” She shakes the container. “That's food. I thought... He was in such a bad shape yesterday... that...”

Merlin straightens, picks up his rucksack – it now hangs from one shoulder – and says, “Oh, yep, he was.” He makes way for Gwen and turns to Arthur. “I'll, er, leave you two to it. I was going anyway.” He ducks his head, colour high on his nape. It's flaming red and Arthur can't fathom why. “Sorry again.” Still not looking his way, but evidently addressing Arthur, he adds, “I'll see you tomorrow.”

Ollie darts forward as if to go after him, but a word from Arthur stops him. Merlin is, however, gone.

Gwen, who's still standing in the doorway, says, “Was that a bad moment?”

“No,” Arthur says, petting Ollie's head, who's still smarting to go after Merlin. That calms his canine ebullience. “It was just-- He was going.” He lifts his empty palm at the spot Merlin's just vacated.

“I can see that,” Gwen says, her eyebrows joining. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Arthur says and then he coughs because he might be partly recovered but he's not fully there yet.

Gwen walks into the kitchen. Since Arthur's flat is largely open plan, he can hear everything she says clear as day as well as see her. “I have made you salad and meatballs. Not Ikea, no worries. I thought that maybe if you were better fed you'd stop somatising.”

Arthur frowns. “I'm not somatising.”

Gwen comes back, hands empty this time. “You are, I think. The divorce and stuff. That's okay though. I went through a bad patch myself. Totally normal. I started yoga classes to take my mind off the bad times.”

“I see.”

Ollie yawns.

“You got yourself a dog, I see.” She smiles and goes on a knee to rub Ollie's fur. Ollie's quite content with the treatment. The pleasures of being a nice dog. Nobody ever hates you. “That's a better cure than even yoga, I think. The love of something that loves you back. Or someone. That boy that was here, too.”

“He's not,” Arthur hurries to say, face ballooning he's puffing so much. “He's not--”

“You don't owe me an explanation,” Gwen says, standing up again. “Personally, I'm all for it. Starting new. I'm seeing Lancelot. Du Lac. You know him, I'm sure.”

Arthur remembers him. They all went to the same tennis club before the divorce. “Yeah, sure,” Arthur says. “He's great.” He doesn't believe that: in fact when last seen Lance had a foppish hair cut -- and what kind of git does these days --a clear indicator of bad taste and being less than great all around. But he won't be petty. Not in front of Gwen. He will be. In private. He'll invite Leon for a round of drinks and pour his petty heart out on the subject. Not now. Now he can climb his high horse and sound as though the Lance thing doesn't faze him in the least he's so above it all. “Great bloke. Good tops spin.”

Gwen laughs. “You're still very funny, Arthur.” She takes his hand, running her thumb along its side and up to his wrist. He remembers her touch and though he misses it greatly, his heart is not breaking anymore at having lost it. “Now don't stick your lips out.”

Arthur makes sure he's not doing any such thing. “I'm not. And I'm not seeing Mer--” He stops. She's not buying it, he can see, and however preposterous the notion, he hasn't got the energy to fight it and enlighten her.

Maybe she'll be jealous. And that's okay. She should be, a little, (Du Lac's a ponce and she all but paraded the connection). Perhaps. Maybe that's petty though. Especially since she's done nothing wrong. He and Gwen and he just didn't work out. He doesn't know what to think or feel anymore.

“It's all right.” She leans in, mouth close to his cheek, hesitating before aborting a kiss. She locks gazes with him and rubs his shoulder instead. That's nice, but, he realises with an odd feeling of displacement that it's also this side, alias the wrong one when your ex wife is concerned, of friendly. “Just look after yourself, will you?”

And with that she's gone.

Arthur looks down at Ollie. “We're alone, mate. Fancy sharing meatballs?”

 

**** 

 

The next day Arthur feels shaky but sound enough of mind and body to at least nip by the office. He takes his aspirin blister with him just in case he has a relapse to his pre-Merlin conditions and prepares for a morning spent interviewing senior mangers about their performance.

He's seen two when his phone rings and Merlin's voice sounds over it. “Hi,” Arthur,” he says, his tone small and distant. Different. “I meant to ring earlier today but I thought I could and then it turns out I couldn't.”

Arthur waves George', who's entering and clearly itching to say something, away. George ducks out but Arthur for good measure swivels his chair around so he's facing the direction opposite the door's. “Merlin, what you're saying makes no sense.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right.” There's a loud cough in his ear. “It's just that I'm not feeling well today so I'm not dropping by to take Ollie out. I tried but I'm under the weather and I wouldn't be doing a good job.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, something eating at his stomach. It must be guilt, he decides. “Did you catch it from me?”

Merlin wheezes in his ear. “Must've. I'm so sorry about leaving Ollie sitting in your flat all alone.”

“Don't worry,” Arthur says, remembering all Merlin's done for him over the day and a half Arthur had an actual temperature and was so out of it as to be less than normally able to look after himself. He might have coped alone but Merlin did help. “I was planning to only stay at the office till lunchtime anyway.” This is not exactly true since he didn't make any specific plans but the lack of specificity makes it less than false anyway. “I've got it.”

“Thank you,” says Merlin feebly. “I didn't want Ollie to not be okay because of me.”

“Merlin.” Arthur sighs. “You looked after me for an entire day and got whatever you've got from me. I'm not a monster. It's fine. More than fine. I can take care of my own dog.”

“Yeah, I know,” Merlin says, sounding so very serious Arthur's at pains to understand why.

“Sometimes I think he likes you more than me because you're just the type--” Arthur doesn't say what type of person Merlin is. Or whether he just means he believes Merlin to be a dog person or merely a loveable one. “You know...”

He trails off like a veritable idiot.

“He loves you,” Merlin says shakily then he does something with the receiver for Arthur's getting all sorts of crackling sounds that are crowned by Merlin clearing his throat. “Anyway, I think I'm supposed to get a nap or something. I'll ring to say when I'm going to go back to dog sitting duties.”

“Take your time,” Arthur says with a tiny smile that eases on his lips without a warning.

“I bank on only returning when I'm fine, Arthur,” Merlin says, before adding a quick, 'bye' and disconnecting.

Arthur stares at the receiver before setting it back in its cradle. Merlin must be feeling really ill to be as brusque as that. Arthur may have not known Merlin long but he's been around him enough to establish that Merlin's mostly polite – when not irreverent – and certainly so bubbly you can't keep him from talking.

Arthur presses the intercom button and summons George. When his PA appears Arthur says, “George, could you please tell Durnore and Rowse that I'll have to postpone seeing them.”

George's eyebrow undergoes a bit of a tick. “Very well, sir.”

“And find me Merlin's address. I'm sure he included one when he sent in his CV.”

George being an incomparable PA, Merlin's address is soon found.

Merlin lives on the fifth floor of a scruffy high rise tenement building in Hackney. As Arthur discovers on the way up it's all graffiti-daubed and way less than clean. He thinks he spots one lone cockroach merrily stampeding along a wall embrasure.

The tenants he runs into are lanky teenagers who should be at school right now but are instead trafficking with stuff Arthur supposes isn't legal, like pieces of tech equipment he assumes are about to be fenced off and see-through packets that change hands too quickly.

Stuffing a hand in his pocket and gathering his coat around him, Arthur bypasses them and presses the call button to the rusty lift.

Merlin's the last door on a walkway looking over an inner courtyard that's overrun with weeds and populated by mangy pigeons.

After having checked that the name plate reads Emrys, Arthur moves to ring the door bell.

He needn't have for the door opens before he can touch his fingers to the button. Merlin's standing on the threshold, dressed like he's about to go out and not just pop down for a grocery run. He's got one of his good jackets on for one and his shirt has buttons. That’s a lot when Merlin -- tee-man -- is considered. To top the I'm-going-to-go-about-town look, he smells like shower gel, his hair has been combed and his eyes are bright, but not in the way of someone who's not well. The glow on his cheeks is most definitely that of health.

“You lied, didn't you,” Arthur says, shoving his Boots bag at Merlin. “I should have known. Incubation periods aren't that short.”

Merlin's pupils dilate and he flinches, not latching onto the bag. “Arthur, please come inside,” he says, widening the door to invite Arthur in.

“Weren't you going out?” Arthur asks flippantly.

“Arthur, please,” Merlin says. This time something about Merlin changes. His eyes grow wet, he pushes his lips together and little lines of contrition appear all around his mouth and brow. He looks like somebody has just run over his dog.

Considering that skivvying off on the job is not really a crime, Arthur follows him inside, depositing the meds bag on top of a rickety hall dresser.

“What did you want to say?” Arthur asks, hands going back to his pockets, shoulders converging inwards.

“I'm sorry about lying,” Merlin says, shifting from foot to foot. He looks miserable but Arthur feels the same way. He's the one who's made an effort coming here so he doesn't understand why he should be moved by Merlin's sad eyes. He's the one who lied. Not Arthur.

“I get it,” says Arthur with a shrug. “You probably wanted a free day. Wanted to see your girlfriend--”

“Don't have one.”

“Or have fun, hang with your friends,” Arthur continues. He has to steel himself to go on but he does it, looking past Merlin and at his rather bare living room. “I'm sure you thought lying was better. That if you'd told me the truth I'd have thought you were lazy. Especially considering how much I give you.” Arthur's voice gets low and dry, like sandpaper's ploughed over his tongue. “Maybe you just thought 'he won't let me scrounge off him if he gets a whiff of what kind of lie-about I am.”

Arthur knows that's not true of Merlin – not when Merlin's spent hours and hours on Ollie, making sure Arthur's dog is fine, making him love him – but the words come out all the same.

“That's not true!” Merlin says, nearly lunging forwards before stopping and slumping in place, the arm h'd lifted to get Arthur to rein his words in dropping by his side. “That's not true,” he says again. “I wasn't scamming you to stay in your good graces, I swear.”

“Then why lie?” Arthur asks, eyes snapping to Merlin's this time, because, honest to God, he can't not look at him. He needs to sound him, understand the reasons behind his actions. “You could have said, 'Hey, Arthur, mind if I take a couple of days off in exchange for playing nurse?' Why did you even think lying was a good idea!”

“It wasn't like that,” Merlin says, upper lip trembling, eyes shot with red, cheeks metaphorically catching fire. “I didn't lie because I wanted to slug in bed all morning!”

“Then why, Merlin, why?” Arthur shakes his head, his heart in his boots for whatever reason. “I'm not getting it.”

“Because,” Merlin's says, and now he's the one to drop his gaze before rethinking it and catching Arthur's eyes with his, “because I've developed a huge crush on you that feels to close to being in – whatever – and you have a perfectly lovely girlfriend who brings you food when you're ill, so I just wanted a few days to myself to talk myself out of it, because, all things aside, I really like Ollie and I'd miss him if you gave me the sack.” Merlin squares his shoulders, but his voice is rough when he says, “Just an inappropriate crush.”

Arthur wets his lips, cups his mouth. Glances away. Something inside him is coming unstitched.

 

****

 

“Let's sit down, all right,” Arthur says as he watches Merlin go through a series of facial expressions the most prominent of which seems to be one akin to mortification.

“You're sacking me, aren't you?” Merlin deflates like an empty potato sack. “If it's that then there's no need for me to sit down. I can take it standing.”

“Merlin, let's just sit.” To show Merlin that that's what he means, Arthur crosses over to the sofa, which lists the moment Arthur plonks down, and, acting as though that hasn't happened, waits for Merlin to do the same.

The upholstery releases a sigh as Merlin sinks down. “Is there worse?”

“No, Merlin, no,” Arthur says, swallowing around a little knot that has stubbornly lodged itself in his throat and that reminds him of the days he was ailing from the bloody glandular fever. “I'm not about to lay you off.” He could have, Arthur thinks, because the situation is certainly embarrassing, but that would be petty and wrong to boot because Merlin's the best at what he does. Nobody in his right mind could argue that. Arthur's always attempted to be fair in business. Personal considerations should never interfere with the evaluation of someone's skills. “I'm not.”

“Then what?” Merlin's throat works. “Are you suing me for breach of contract?”

Arthur pats Merlin's knee to make him calm down, realises how that might be read in light of Merlin's confession and snatches his hand back. “No,” he says. “You've been really good with Ollie. And you've always been punctual and available...” Arthur rethinks the wording as the least apt he could have chosen and reformulates. “But I can't let you go on thinking... harbouring...”

Merlin furiously shakes his hands. “No, no. I realise you have a girlfriend.”

Arthur laughs stiffly. It figures people should interpret his and his ex wife's relationship as romantic when all romance has died because of Arthur's mistakes. “The lady you saw is my ex wife.”

There's a spark in Merlin's eyes that's like fire-crackers. “You're divorced?”

“Yes,” Arthur admits, the heel of his hand going to his forehead – an automatic habit he's taken up ever since headaches have become more frequent with him – before he drops it. “I was married for three years. And now I'm not. Not anymore. As of a few days ago.”

Merlin's gaze sweeps over him. He must cut a sorry figure for Merlin says, “I'm sorry,” and Arthur can detect the pity in his tone. He'd have thought to find some glee there. Before being circuitously shot down Merlin had made a pass at him. Arthur would have thought he'd rejoice at learning Arthur's free. But there's no trace of that. Merlin's really too nice for his own good.

“It didn't work for a variety of reasons,” Arthur says. “It happens.”

Merlin picks at his jacket's sleeve, lower lip sticking out. “Um. That's still sad. But I guess it can – not work. Marriages, I mean.”

“You'll find out.” Arthur corrects himself quickly. “I'm not wishing your future married life to be awful by the way. But you'll find out that being with someone is not always easy either. No matter the amount of love you put into it and best intentions aside.”

“I'm pretty sure that you tried your best,” Merlin says, flexing his fingers. “Arthur, my crush may be inappropriate but I do know you're a good man. And mine's not a case of rose tinted glasses either.”

Arthur's mouth opens and closes. When at last he settles on something to say he tells Merlin, “Thank you for the vote of confidence.” That sounds stiff and dismissive even to his own ears and while he wants to gently let Merlin down he doesn't want to really hurt him. “I hope you'll get with someone who's just perfect for you on the first try.”

And he does, in a roundabout way. Though he sees that happening in a far off, nebulous future unfolding years from now. By then Arthur won't even feature in Merlin's life anymore.

“You've put me in my place very well,” Merlin says, with a little laugh that drives holes in Arthur's chest. It's a little bit like being rifled at. “I'm getting the message, don't you worry. Not gay and not interested and--” Merlin's nose scrunches up – “Why would you be?”

Instinctively, Arthur reaches his hand to touch Merlin's cheek, palm open. "You're a great person, you know. You've got a spark to you. But you're, God, so young, Merlin--”

“I'm twenty,” Merlin says. “Not that young.”

“And I'm thirty-one and fresh out of a situation I don't understand myself.” He's not sure he can explain. He understands the concept of divorce. He understands it very well. He just can't fathom how it got there. How it happened to him. He'd thought that if he did his best then life would reward him. Not so much now. And that has no bearing on the current situation. He's not right for Merlin. He's not right for anyone at this point in time. He's... a work in progress. Life's been a botched experiment for him in places. Making sense of what he means is not easy, but he gives the concept a spin for Merlin's benefit. “You're not planned.”

Merlin's breath ghosts on Arthur's palm like he's taken one big, dizzying intake of breath. If that wasn't too much like something out of a romance novel Arthur would say Merlin just shuddered. “Can't you change your plans?”

Too quickly, Arthur lets his hand fall back to his lap. He shouldn't have touched him, not like that. “No. I wouldn't know how to. I wouldn't know how to wrap my head around that. Not now.”

Merlin meets his eyes dead on in spite of the slightly teary film coming over them and in a way that speaks of pretty devastating frankness. “This hurts even more now. Because--” Merlin falters, a whole body fidget making him clumsily shift his weight on the sofa-- “--because it might have been if things were a bit different.”

Something about Merlin's tone or perhaps something about the heart wrenching honesty of his gaze sends the walls around Arthur's heart crashing down. A hundred different feelings fling themselves at him. It's been a while since anything like this happened to him and Arthur doesn't know what to make of them or what to do with himself. The sensations whip at him and he knows that if he lets them all in he'll lose the centre he's lately built his life around. There'll be no balance and the thought scares him like the prospect of facing a big abyss would. He's truly adrift and can't allow that. Must get a hold of himself. There's people he owes things to. People who need him centred. He steels himself and says, “A lesson you’ll learn when you're a little bit older is that sometimes it's not about the people. It's about time and place.”

Merlin nods, sniffs, rubs his hands down his face, nods again. “I know. Cosmic timing failure, then?”

“Yeah,” says Arthur, voice as dry as he can make it. “Yeah.”

“So what do we do?” Merlin asks, voice starting small but getting steadier and steadier as Merlin gets a hold of himself the way Arthur can't. “I mean what do I do?”

“We establish boundaries, Merlin,” Arthur says, giving Merlin a shoulder nudge designed to be a pick-me-up. “We decide that we can be...”

“Employer and employee?” Merlin offers.

Arthur's shoulders rise indignantly. “I don't mean it like that. It doesn't need to be that formal. You'll nip by, do your thing with Ollie, focus on your life while I try to make sense of mine again.”

“I can do that,” Merlin says, turning around a bit so that he can face Arthur. “I'll be good.”

Arthur's heart pounds for some reason he doesn't want to look into. “See, problem solved.”

“Can I ask for something first though?” Merlin rubs his palm against his knee. One of his legs is under him and Arthur wonders how he can put his weight on it without aching or cramping. The other is fully stretched out and he looks like a kid someone's left to entertain himself the only way he has; by bending himself into odd positions. He's all a tumble of limbs. In a way, Arthur reflects, that thought is heart-warming in that he feels as though this little disappointment hasn't changed a thing about Merlin. Hasn't damaged him. “Feel free to tell me to bugger off or that I'm digging my own grave.”

Arthur tries for a smile he doesn't believe offers great wattage and rolls his eyes.

Merlin smiles back, smile as wan, and messes with his hair as if he can't keep still. “I know I have to grow out of my crush and I promise I’m already trying, but there's something I want to do. Hello and goodbye style. Please, say you'll let me.”

Arthur goes a bit cross-eyed trying to follow Merlin's drift. “Uh?”

“Can I kiss you? Goodbye.” Merlin asks breathlessly. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” Merlin bows his head. “Figuratively, you know. I know we've never. There was never.” Merlin throws his hands up in the air, looking a bit exasperated at his failure to come up with the words he wants. “Please?”

Arthur licks his lips; it's a nervous gesture but it's the wrong one to indulge in right now. Actually, he shouldn't even be thinking about this. He should be nice but firm and say 'no'. But a moment ago he was defining the new set of rules they'd have to live by, rules that involve the erection of barriers and boundaries, and now here he is, contemplating something that is the body language equivalent of running over those imaginary fences with a tank.

It'd be wrong. It'd be encouraging the poor bloke while verbally putting a dam on his feelings.

“All right,” he says though, good sense telling him to do one thing while his mouth runs away with him.

Merlin's eyes crease, tiny little crinkles resting one upon the other in the corners. He leans close, so close his breath washes over Arthur, and then he touches Arthur’s s lips gently with his. It's soft and nice in the electrifying way of jolts and electrical currents. It's sweet too, like something Arthur hasn't indulged in for a long while.

For a heartbeat the pressure goes away. Thinking that that's it, Arthur sucks in a sharp breath and his chest goes tight. Then Merlin presses his lips against his with a bit more vigour. At the same moment, they both open their mouths and their tongues touch.

As if this is his last breath or something, Arthur gasps into it, a deep sound ripped out of him. Merlin's tongue slides deep over his, wet and slick, grazes the roof of his mouth and retreats before Arthur catches it with his.

Arthur almost makes to grab Merlin's face or his side or any part of him within easy reach. But he doesn't. Even though his brain's a jumble of thoughts that can't even be called thoughts because of the sensations coming at him from all directions, he knows enough not to do that.

It's Merlin who cups his face, his tongue sliding out of Arthur's mouth even if his lips close around Arthur's upper one for one final parting shot.

And then it's over. Merlin's fingers are no longer hot pinpricks on the sides of Arthur's face and Merlin's own is at a safe, if somewhat intimate, distance. (Intimate enough to tell Arthur that Merlin's eyes are actually darker than he ever thought or that there's a couple freckles on his nose that Arthur would never have suspected existed otherwise.)

“Thank you,” Merlin says, sounding winded. “I promise it won't happen ever again and that I'll never bother you or harass you. I'll be a good employee.” He leans farther away. “I'll behave from now on.”

 

****

 

Over the next few weeks Merlin is perfect. He respects Arthur's boundaries, takes Ollie out for walks more than before so there's less opportunity for them to run into each other, and generally makes himself scarce. He does so politely and while always wearing an expression that is more friendly than his attitude but he still does it.

With a pang of something that is not regret but is certainly melancholy Arthur watches Merlin flit in and out of his life like a well-intentioned whirlwind.

The truth is that Arthur and Merlin's relationship has subtly shifted.

Whereas Merlin was the type of man to go crashing against a person's in-built walls, he's now much more wary of them. He says 'please' and 'sorry' much more than he ever has. Like the time he takes Ollie out for a run and comes back so winded he has to go for the water in Arthur's fridge and constantly apologises about it, promising he'll resupply it, or the time he inadvertently muddies up the parquet flooring. In this instance he quickly retrieves a mop and gets on his knees to make sure any foot or paw prints quickly disappear. He's acting like a medieval pageboy threatened with the stocks by a humourless king.

Arthur tries to tell him that there's no need to go those lenghts, but Merlin's adamant. He performs his task and there's no talking him out of it.

Even though his floor shines afterwards Arthur can't say he's ecstatic about this new side to Merlin.

All in all there's a new vibe to him. He talks just as much as before but he manages to say much less, if that's somehow possible. It's like word volume and meaning are not mutually inclusive. In short, Merlin becomes a little bit impenetrable, a mystery, always in a hurry, coming or going, always on the cusp of something he won't share anymore. Shrouded in mystery.

Arthur has questions on the tip of his tongue all the time. Sometimes he even airs them. And he finds himself probing Merlin on whether his uni life is going fine or if he's got bill problems. “You haven't smiled in three days,” he finds himself saying.

The rest of the time though Arthur acts as though he accepts Merlin's new found restraint.

In a way, Arthur tells himself, that's for the best too. There's lines you don't cross once you've been all over them before. When you have, it's more important not to blur them once again. Otherwise nothing will make sense.

Yet Merlin's so opaque now Arthur misses Merlin's earlier behaviour. While that wasn't right in view of what Merlin felt for him, the difference still makes Arthur feel a little hollow on the inside. As if he's the one who's done something bad, as if there is something cosmically wrong about all this.

As if he's the one who's done this to Merlin when Merlin was perfect the way he was. Well, perfect with all his faults and quirks.

Yet he can't bring himself to say as much. How selfish would that be? He's had his say. He told Merlin 'no', and he can't complain about Merlin being only surface nice to him now. Complaining would mean that he wants that level of attention and dedication back, which, of course, he doesn't.

Watching Merlin's discomfort is hard for Arthur. At first he thought the distance Merlin had been trying keep between them was nothing but healthy. Now it's unsettling in the way of things that can't be changed.

One night Merlin shares a silence with him that doesn't seem strained though.

It's raining hard outside; the drumming of raindrops on the window panes harsh. Not at all the kind of lulling, soft sounds Arthur remembers as having accompanied some choice stormy childhood afternoons.

Arthur remembers this quieter pattern from when he used to sit snuggled up to his mum in his nursery, she reading a book out to him, him pointing at the pictures and reciting parts of the narration he remembered by heart.

Tonight isn't one of those nights but it's pleasant all the same. A different kind of pleasant. But fully satisfying nonetheless. Thanks to the concerted efforts of his team, Arthur's back home rather early today. They've coordinated a conference and organised a business trip that might be very important for him and all in the space of three hours; this has allowed Arthur some quality free time.

Since it's raining so hard, Merlin has opted for staying inside with Ollie, which puts him and Arthur home together.

Merlin has taken out a number of dog toys Arthur's not aware of having bought and is using them to distract Ollie away from any piece of furniture the dog might otherwise want a taste of now that he's barred from the park. Ollie's sprawled out on some sort of tumbling mat, chewing on a plastic toy that comes in the shape of a hairless chicken (Arthur's decidedly not responsible for) and it's all cosy.

Arthur is enjoying watching man and dog interact even though he only does it from time to time when he's on a pause from his work – and mostly out of the corners of his eyes too – until Merlin speaks.

“If you want me to I can go. I mean, there's no reason for me to stay here for Ollie when you're home too,” Merlin says, playing at trying to take the chicken from the dog (not happening any time soon), though he's not meaning to.

Arthur sets the pile of papers he's been reading on the coffee table. He doesn't know what to say to that (would he be forcing intimacy, would he sound cold), so he fumbles his answer. “All right.”

Merlin stands, Ollie whining because he's let go of the toy. He zips up his hoodie as thunder rolls outside.

“You know you can wait it out,” Arthur says, because that's polite and he should. Besides, he doesn't want Merlin to catch anything – for real this time.

“Nah,” Merlin tells him, his voice light, too light, empty even. “I've got my car parked a little way down the street. I'll rush for it.”

“Okay,” Arthur says, still at a loss for words. He shifts on the sofa then an idea strikes him. “Want an umbrella? I can lend you one.”

“No need,” Merlin said, popping his collar. “I'll cover the distance in a jiffy.”

“Right, then, good night.”

To the accompaniment of loud barking sounds, Merlin walks to the door. Hand on the handle, he says, “I know I'm usually working on Mondays but I was wondering if I could take the next one free?” He hasn't turned so Arthur can't read his expression. “I'll be very honest about it this time. I'm planning a trip over to the seaside for the weekend, and not having to come on Monday'd help with the time-table.”

“Of course,” Arthur says, throat constricting on its own even though there's no reason for it to. “You should have some fun.”

“It'd save me from driving back early on the Sunday,” Merlin tells him, slumped back growing stiffer.

Why will Merlin not listen? His answer isn't coming with any double meanings. “Merlin, I already said 'yes'. It's okay.”

“I'll put in more hours on Tuesday,” Merlin says quickly and Arthur can do nothing but repeat his assurance that everything is fine. “You deserve a weekend with your friends.”

Merlin accepts that with a nod and leaves.

The silence after Merlin's left is deafening, the more so since it's enhanced by the sounds of the rain outside. Arthur sits with his pile of paperwork for a while longer, but the ever so quiet atmosphere makes it impossible for him to continue working or stop thinking.

With a glance at the sleeping Ollie, he makes a decision. He goes to his room and changes into warmer clothes. Mindful of the weather outside he makes it two layers. He quickly gives his hair a pat that goes in place of combing and, before getting his keys, grabs a handful of documents from the safe.

A little wet, he makes it to his car, document folder resting on the passenger seat. He drives on, music he later mutes in the background. He parks close to her building, picks up his documents again and slams the car door shut, deciding that the neighbourhood is fine enough for him not to bother with the alarm.

Folders of documents tucked under his arm, he rushes to her doorstep, head ducked against the rain, and rings her door-bell. He hears her laughter even before she opens the door.

Gwen's eyebrows climb when she sees him and the laughter dies in her throat. Her mouth gets a little pinched too. Arthur doesn't grasp the reason why until the timbres of a masculine voice he thinks he knows sound from somewhere inside her house. “Gwen, the strawberries are warm enough now and the whippe-- Is that the door, love?”

Arthur stumbles backwards down the step. “I--” he starts, gets confused on how best to say what he has to say, and then just hands Gwen his pile of documents. “The deeds to the house in Dorset.”

Gwen accepts them. “Thank you.” She looks at him with a tiny frown. “Was there something you wanted to say?”

 

“I--”

Lancelot – Arthur has no doubt it's him – calls out again, “Who is it, love?”

“Nobody,” she answers in a shout designed to reach the interior of the house. Taking a look at Arthur on her doorstep, Gwen winces. “Sorry,” Gwen says, “now's not the time, Arthur. I don't want to remind him--” she tips her head towards the back of the house – “of my ex tonight, I hope you understand. Come around again. On another day. Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, sure, yeah,” says Arthur, holding his hands up. “I'll... I'll see you around.”

He dives for his car before Gwen can say anything more even though he doesn't start it yet. Instead he quick dials Leon. “I, hello,” he says, “it's...”

“Arthur,” Leon says with a chuckle. “I've got your number flashing on my display.”

“Yeah, I know, I--” Arthur says. He's got a line about old-fashioned phone call etiquette but he doesn't utter it. It'd sound empty and stupid anyway.

“You're sounding off,” Leon says and then as if he's got an idea as to what that might be he adds, “Arthur, is anything the matter with you?.”

Is anything, Arthur wonders. There's nothing wrong with his life. It's not like he's just had some kind of terrible communication or something. He's just lived through an awkward moment but it's not as if Gwen and he haven't survived a few of those before or like he didn't know about Lancelot. So Arthur doesn't know. But there's thoughts churning in his brain and Arthur doesn't like chaos. So maybe there's something a little wrong with him.

Or maybe his capacity for accepting chaos has decreased over the years, especially after his failure at making order of his life, so he's sounding strained. “Are you free?” he finds himself asking. “Because if you are--”

“I do have poker night tonight,” Leon says, “few mates coming round.”

“Oh, okay,” says Arthur, tapping his fingers on the lower portion of the steering wheel. “That's fine.”

“I can pop down at the local for a few minutes if it's urgent,” Leon says, his register evenly friendly. “You know where I live.”

“It's not that important,” Arthur says, taking his foot on and off the clutch. “Really.”

Arthur hears some background noise and cursing. “I'm putting my shoes on. Be there in ten.”

Arthur drives to Leon's local.

Over a pint of bitter Leon doesn't share with him because he wants to be all there for his poker game, Arthur says, “Has anyone inappropriate ever told you they.... want you. Sexually, I mean.”

Leon's beard twitches, which means his facial muscles are. “What do you mean inappropriate? Are we talking married inappropriate, work-related inappropriate, or under-age inappropriate? Wait, I hope you're not thinking I ever made a pass at you!”

Arthur laughs. This is the first genuinely funny thing Arthur's heard all week. “No, I haven't ever misinterpreted your words on the subject, ever. And none of the three.”

“Then I don't see how it's inappropriate.”

“He's a lot younger,” Arthur says, thinking of all the ways Merlin mightn't be right for him. “But a nice person.”

Leon drums his fingers on the table. “Then my answer is, I wish.”

Arthur claps Leon on the shoulder. “Come on, be serious.”

“Well,” Leon says, crossing his arms and resettling on his stool. “As I see it you have two options. One, if you're not interested, say so. And avoid him from now on. It's not as if his feelings are changing any time soon. Or yours either for that matter. If you're interested, just do it. Fuck him.”

“What!” says Arthur, though the trouble is he can picture that happening quite easily. Because of Merlin's occasional stampeding around his flat with his torso bared, Arthur has a measure of Merlin's body and can guess how it looks naked. The imaginative leap is short. Fancy can do the rest. The fact that the image that presents itself to his mind is half pornographic – he does picture Merlin's cock as big, it feeling tight, Merlin spilling while hovering over a phantom partner Arthur won't just give features to – and half-seen through goggles that lend it a sweet aura makes him think that he's perhaps going crazy. “I can't.”

“Well, there's the third option: trying to stay friends with someone who wanks to you,” says Leon thoughtfully, “but you only fight for relationships when you're really good mates with the person. If it's someone new, and I think it might be, then is it really worth all the awkwardness?”

Arthur has no answer to that so he harrumphs.

“Unless you want to fuck him, which brings me to option two.” Leon smiles placidly as if he's discovered nuclear fission. “It's quite circular, really.”

“You're a git and this is shit advice,” Arthur tells him.

Leon doesn't drop his smile. “Oh, come off it, Arthur. I'm not an advice columnist. This is really the best I can do.” He looks pleased with himself all the same. “I'm just glad you've, you know, opened up, even though you're my boss.”

Arthur has to shift his gaze. “Go play your stupid poker game, Leon,” Arthur says and then when Leon stands up and starts collecting his things – wallet, keys, mobile, he adds, “Thank you – Dr Leon.”

When Arthur makes it back home, his flat is as quiet as it was when he left it.

Arthur strips in the hall and since it's late enough – a drive-about to sift Leon's words will do that to you – he makes a beeline for his bed. Which he finds mostly wholly occupied by 80 lbs of dog.

“Get down,” Arthur says, his voice no nonsense, as one of Ollie's trainers told him to make it when he means to tell his dog off. Ollie's head is after all lying on the guest pillow. “Down!” he claps a hand on his thigh as a way to attract Ollie's attention to the desired spot. “Down, boy.”

Oliver lifts his head, looks at him unconvinced, then rests his head back on the pillow.

“You're becoming a bit of a bully,” Arthur says, mostly to himself.

Arthur's dog doesn't respond.

“Ollie, down.”

Ollie finally hops off the bed. It takes Arthur a few seconds to realise why the order worked this time. “You're a little in love with Merlin, aren't you, traitor?” Arthur settles under the covers as he grumbles on. “I mean I know he's likeable and somewhat endearing, but--”

He's scarcely done with that sentence when Ollie jumps back up on the bed. After two tail chasing spins that get the duvet all wrinkled, he finally sprawls back down and gives Arthur's face a lick. “Yeah, I know,” Arthur says, ruffling his dog's fur. “I know, you do, boy.”

Arthur doesn't chase Ollie off again though he should and will from tomorrow on. For tonight he just buries a hand in fur and goes to sleep.

Arthur tells himself that's for the best.

 

****

 

It's roundabout seven o'clock and Arthur is returning home when he spots Merlin's car down the street leading to his place.

Merlin's sitting on the bonnet, his legs splayed out. A thin bloke is standing between them, leaning forwards for a kiss.

Even though he knows he shouldn't, Arthur stops, fingers stiffening around the handle of his briefcase, and watches.

A soft smile Arthur knows well creases Merlin's lips. Arthur can see the bright light of amusement as it pops up on Merlin's face. Neck tendons sticking out, he hesitates, leaning away, as if he wants to back out, but then he tips his head back and kisses the unknown, his hands at the young man's waist, long fingers curling deep in jersey folds.

Possessively? Invitingly? Arthur doesn't know. He only knows that the breath is punched clean out of him. He cuts his eyes in the direction of the pavement, takes a moment to ground himself, and stalks on.

He has to pass Merlin's car, of course, and that's when Merlin notices him. He ducks out of the kiss and says forcedly brightly, “Hello, Arthur.”

Arthur nods his head, but strides forwards and into his building, facing firmly ahead. He's already got an eyeful and it would be wrong of him to linger when Merlin is trying to, ostensibly, say goodbye to his boyfriend, or whoever that guy is.

Merlin catches up with him halfway up the stairs. “Hey, Arthur,” he says, panting, “slow down.”

Arthur keeps his pace. “I'm tired, Merlin, I'm just trying to get back home as quickly as I can.”

Merlin's jogging to keep pace. “Okay, all right. I suppose a bit of excercise won't kill me.”

Arthur has one more flight of stairs to get to his flat. “So, how was your holiday?”

“Fun,” Merlin says, nearly losing his balance as he stumbles over a step. He catches himself on the banister and grins. “I did a bit of healthy jogging. Played volleyball,” he babbles on and on. “No tan because it's March. Still, it was fun.”

Ollie barking from the other side, Arthur opens the door to his flat, leaving the keys in the hall. “So you went with your boyfriend?” Arthur asks as he hangs his raincoat by the door.

“Who?” Merlin asks, eyebrows shooting up as though he's genuinely confused.

Arthur slackens the knot of his tie, Ollie chewing at his shoelaces in welcome. “The guy whose face you were eating back there.”

Merlin's mouth snaps shut on the first answer that must have come to him. His brows knit together and then he says, “You're talking about Daegal? Because that's not... He's not... That was just a kiss.”

Arthur bends over to pat Ollie's head. “You don't owe me an explanation. We talked and it's... You can do what you want.”

“I know that,” Merlin says, looking at him out of narrowed eyes. His shoulders deflate with a little sigh. “I know. It's just that...”

Arthur looks up, catches Merlin's eyes. “Not my place to comment.”

Merlin shuffles forwards. “Arthur...”

“So where are you taking Ollie tonight?” Arthur asks, straightening and walking over to the kitchen.

Merlin trails him, Ollie following them both. “My friend Elena has a pal who runs a dog play centre They've got an agility obstacle course. I was thinking I could take Ollie.” Merlin pauses to let out a breath. He's a bit red in the face so he probably needs a few seconds to properly suck in air. “With your permission, of course.”

“Yeah, why not,” Arthur says, “just don't stress Ollie out, okay?”

Merlin scratches at a spot behind his ear. “If you're worried, you could come?”

There's an eagerness to Merlin's gaze and attitude that makes Arthur want to accept. It'd be a nice evening out. He'd watch his dog indulge in crazy antics at the course and he'd get an earful of light-hearted Merlin chatter. But then he weighs the situation and tells himself it'd be a very bad idea. “I'm tired, Merlin. I'm just going to have a nap and then do some work.”

“Okay, all right. Sure.” Merlin calls Ollie to him and Ollie canters happily over to him. Merlin slips a finger under his collar and prompts him back towards the door. “I swear I'll only tire him a little bit so he'll let you work tonight.”

Arthur has his back to Merlin so he can get at the fridge as Merlin exits.

With Merlin gone, Arthur decides to make himself some tea. So he stores the drink he picked up before back in the fridge and goes for the kettle. He settles into the routine, letting his shoulders uncoil as he traffics in the kitchen.

A short while later he's got a steaming cuppa, so he retreats with it to the sofa, kicks off his shoes and plonks down, feet on the rest, mug propped on his belly.

He slowly sips at it and lets his brain empty of thought. After a few minutes of this he's quite drowsy, so he puts the tepid mug back on the floor, wiggles a little, hugs himself, and lets the drowsiness take over.

He knows it's a dream even before it begins. He's in his old bedroom for one, the one belonging to the ancient pad he lived in while at uni. For another the lighting is all strange, fuzzy, soft, washed out. It looks like it's day in this dream and he remembers it being evening when he got home from work.

He doesn't mind though because he feels relaxed. There's no threat so he lets himself sink into the images.

At first he's alone in bed, the mattress hollowing under his spine. It's comfortable. He feels good, rested as he seldom does, but there's a thrum of adrenalin going through him as if he knows something's about to happen. And it does.

Someone parts the flimsy white bed curtains – Arthur's never had those in his life, but what the fuck, dream – and crawls onto the bed and between his legs.

The phantom has a long and lean body, odd, unreal shadows throwing the pure lines of it in relief. Lips press to his and Arthur revels in the mouth sealed over his, in the light scratch of chapped corners, in the itch of stubble, and in the buttery mellowness of the touch.

That mouth is sliding over his lips, wet and hot and open. His partner's nose is touching Arthur's and Arthur wants to laugh at how innocent that is, considering the nature of this fantasy, but every sound is muffled in this dream.

Instinctively, Arthur twists his body so it's curving around that of his phantom partner, draping itself around it.

Arthur moves his mouth around that of the other person. The kiss deepens. Tongues touch.

It's like a blast of pleasure that seeps into his insides and nearly melts them, fattening his cock even before he's processed the strength of his desire.

Clothes go. Vanish without a thought or gesture. Arthur drops his head back against the pillow and sighs. His heart beat spikes. His fingers dig into his partner's flesh as he pulls him to.

He wants him close, needs him. The desire inside him grows so much it's scary. But he gives in to it because there's no alternative and no stopping this.

It's both overwhelming and inevitable.

His partner leans down and a shaft of dust mote-riddled sunlight lights up his features. It's Merlin. A smile breaks on Arthur's face like a dawn. He knew. Even before their love-making session began, when he couldn't see, he knew it had to be him.

Merlin beams back at him, covering him, his open mouth against Arthur's throat. He's pressed up against the entire length of Arthur's frame, fingers threaded through Arthur's hair, pulling so Arthur will be closer, so he'll angle his face right.

Arthur goes with it and their mouths clash together again and again in drawn-out pulses and waves. Merlin's tongue is filthy in Arthur's s mouth, licking at his teeth, at his gums, tip gliding across the softer parts of his palate.

In one sharp little thrust Arthur bucks up. His pulse is thrumming staccato fast in his neck, reverberating in his cock with the same insistent cadence that nearly hurts.

Merlin touching him fulfils a thirst he didn't know he had. It's good and perfect. But instead of being sated, he craves more. More of this touch, more of Merlin. He shoves up and Merlin parts Arthur's legs with his knees.

There's no transition because this is a dream. But one moment Merlin's grinding against him and the next he's large inside Arthur.

Merlin flexes involuntarily and that lodges Merlin more firmly in. Arthur wants to move against him, wants to help the burn under his skin burst into a full fire, so he does. Merlin responds with continuous rising and falling motions of his hips. Faster strokes, brief withdrawals, the drag of him in and out of him incendiary.

The heat inside Arthur builds. He grips Merlin with a fierceness that is largely unknown to him. His hands stroke the lovely, long, taut stretch of Merlin’s back, his mouth plays at the base of Merlin's neck, leaving indentations with his teeth, sucking in tiny bruises that will soon ripe.

A low sweeping rush of sensation swirls around the base of his spine and goes to his prick, bursting and scalding like hot water, like a slant of blinding light working its way out from the inside. It's like orgasming but it's not because he doesn't come.

The sensation only occasions a change of scene.

He's now back in his current living room, his shirt a sweat-soaked mess clinging to his pecs, his hair sticking to his skull.

Merlin's seated next to him on the edge of the sofa Arthur's sprawled out on. He's completely dressed once again, a light blue tee fitting his frame.

Eyebrow quirked upwards, he's staring at the erection tenting Arthur's trousers. His is a baffled, endearing, but hungry look. His eyes are large, his pupils wide, so much so Arthur can barely guess at the blue. Merlin's mouth is red from biting and chewing on his lips.

And Arthur can't stop. The memory of them having intercourse in the first part of his dream is still too fresh and the ache between his legs is as fierce as it was then for him to.

It's like he gets a do-over because that earlier moment between them was interrupted so abruptly. It's so easy. The magic of dreams.

Arthur reaches for Merlin's face, pulls him down to him. He opens his mouth with a little push of his tongue.

Merlin's quick to let him in, to let Arthur thrust inside his mouth. He even releases a little anguished sob, one that Arthur returns with a huff of shared breath.

This kiss is as deep and wet as they come and before long Merlin's chasing his tongue into Arthur's mouth, glissading under Arthur's, pushing inside in little stabs and slow strokes.

Puffing out a breath that's a cross between a gasp and a whine, he climbs Arthur, making short work of Arthur's belt, dragging down the zip of his trousers. He cups Arthur's penis, his mouth now soft and warm as it moves more sloppily across Arthur's.

As his cock is freed, Arthur's own musky scent fills his nostrils.

The noise Arthur makes at that is scarcely human. His heart skips several beats.

It's been so long since he came with someone he felt for and this is just so perfect that he has no words. He surges up, places his hands either side of Merlin's hips, spanning half his flank with them – and just arches, Merlin grinding down in counterpoint. Like that Arthur can feel the hard jut of Merlin's cock against his pelvic bone.

He swallows hard to keep his gasp down.

Merlin's lips are on his forehead, his cheek, tracing a little course of kisses aimed downwards.

Arthur slams his eyes shut. His mouth falls open, his hips stuttering up and up.

He's nearing orgasm again when Arthur hears Ollie bark.

The slap of realisation hits him hard and leaves him reeling. His eyes snap open and he pushes Merlin away, hand squeezing at his side to stop him from humping him. “This is not a dream,” he says, tongue thick his mouth, his mouth that tastes like Merlin's.

Merlin goggles at him “You thought this was a dream.”

Arthur's voice is raspy when he says, “I thought it was a wet dream, yeah.”

Merlin's still heavy on top of him, still clearly hard, but his weight shifts and its distribution changes. He's stiffening. “I suppose this means...”

Arthur pre-empts him, mostly because he can't bear to listen to Merlin's dry tone, the forced-back misery in it. “I didn't know what was happening.”

Merlin vaults off him. He rakes a hand through his hair. “So you didn't want it? You weren't hard for me or anything?”

A lump forms big inside Arthur's throat. There's many answers to those questions, but he can own up to one truth in the privacy of his own thoughts. His desire for Merlin is like a sharpened blade going through his body. It's so strong it has him on edge. Even now he wants to drag Merlin back down and cover his mouth with his. He wants to have him, feel him. He wants to come with him. And before that he wants to slowly edge inside Merlin till he's stuffed full. Or get Merlin to fuck him slowly. Powerful and sleek. But that can't be.

Arthur doesn't know up from down anymore and Merlin has a fair shot at building something nice and durable with a good-looking boy his age. Arthur and his messes shouldn't come between Merlin and the world of possibilities opening up for him.

“Merlin, I was aroused, yes,” he explains, not indulging in more detail because he's still too hot and bothered to, his cock only slowly flagging, “but, no, all right? It's not right for us.”

Merlin turns his head. “I don't get you. I really don't.”

Arthur twists in his seat and puts his feet back on the floor. He digs his elbows in his thighs and joins his hands. “I don't get myself either,” Arthur says.

Merlin harrumphs.

“Merlin, I'm so sorry, can we--”

Merlin starts. He grabs his jacket and shakes his head. “I'm really failing to get what you want.” His nostrils flare. “Sometimes you look at me and I think it's me you want. But then it can't be because if you wanted me the way I--” Merlin's hand's are all knuckles around his fistful of fabric. “The way I know you can want someone, then you wouldn't be pushing me away.” His eyes stab Arthur and Arthur feels the probe. He doesn't bow his head or avoid the scrutiny. He sits there and waits for Merlin to do something, anything.

Merlin says, “See you around, Arthur.”

The door snicks closed behind him and Ollie paws at it, only to turn his big, leonine head in his direction and look at him.

Arthur leaves the room for bathroom and the shower, where he gets himself off with, rough, punishing pulls.

The ugly pain in his chest doesn't go away with orgasm.

 

****

 

Arthur opens the window and smells the tangy afternoon air. It isn't particularly salubrious but the gesture will serve his purpose.

Having unfolded it, he deposits the mat on the floor and settles down cross-legged, left foot on right knee and right foot on his left one.

His head upright, he straightens his spine and keeps his posture as correct as he can. Hands folded in his lap with the right hand in the left one, thumbs touching lightly, he lets his eyes fall closed.

He does as his instructor taught him and concentrates on his senses. Touch should come first, he's been told, so he tries to focus on his skin, on the breeze coming in from the window he's opened for this purpose, on the pressure of his clothes on his body.

The pressure of Ollie's muzzle on his shoulder, his fast breath in his ear.

Arthur opens his eyes. “I'm trying to concentrate here,” he says, in a tone that is way too high for someone on the way to peaceful meditation. “Okay? We'll play later.”

Arthur closes his eyes once more, concentrating on his hearing this time. Birds are chirping outside. Arthur knows for a fact that a mutation of song thrushes is nesting in the tree opposite his building. The tall crooked one with its variety of sturdy branches. Their upward spiralling song sometimes wakes him at dawn or accompanies him at dusk. He smiles but he reins that in as not conducive to true relaxation. He ought to empty his mind.

The wind whistles in through the window and he tries to regulate his own breathing. He's almost in a meditative state, his thoughts reduced to mere sensation, when his hyper awareness of sound makes him take note of Ollie's fast breathing in his ear.

He screws his eyes even tighter shut; this time he'll focus and won't let himself be distracted.

Ollie approaches him from his other side and puts his head on his other shoulder, his canine breathing coming in staccato pants that shatter Arthur's concentration.

Arthur's eyes fly open. “Ollie, it's not my fault Merlin hasn't come these past three days!”

Now that he has his attention, Ollie barks.

“Okay, perhaps it _is_ my fault,” he amends, his mind going back to the events leading up to Merlin walking out on him. “But I've messed up and there's no way I can make reparations or set things right again.”

Of course Ollie doesn't understand all these complicated concepts. He wants to play and wants Arthur's attention. Or Merlin's. Because Merlin gives him lots and now Ollie's used to it.

He's opening his mouth to say something that will sound nice and reassuring, tone is important with dogs, when his doorbell rings and Arthur springs up, heart racing. He flings the door open without bothering with the peep-hole, but upon seeing the girl on his doorstep he swallows hard. “I'm sorry I never buy anything from door to doo--”

“Oh, no,” the girl, a blonde who's almost as tall as him, says, waving her hands frantically about. “I'm not here to sell you anything. I'm shit at that. Presentation is not my forte and all that rot. No marketing skills whatsoever, which is why I'm doing linguistics at uni. I mean who'd buy anything from me?”

Arthur hooks up an eyebrow.

“Oh,” the girl says, clapping a hand before her mouth. “Right. I'm Elena. Merlin's friend.” She pumps Arthur's hand vigorously. “He's sitting an exam today and couldn't be here.”

“He's been sitting this exam for three days?” Arthur points out in a voice that is too sharp to be polite, a tone he shouldn’t be using on a girl he doesn't know and who's only being nice to him.

“No?” She tilts her head. “Can I come in?”

Arthur lets her because there's not much else he can do lest he sound completely uncouth. He was taught better.

Invitation given, Elena lollops inside and when she sights Ollie she goes to her knees and starts petting him. “Merlin said you were gorge but I didn't think you'd be so irresistible.”

“So, Elena,” Arthur starts, trying to make sense of this conversation – if it can be called one since she's been doing most of the talking without inputs from him. “I'm guessing Merlin gave you my address?”

Elena tips her head up at him. “Yes! Yes, he did because he has this--”

“Exam, I take it?” he offers rather sceptically. He can believe Merlin's at uni but this exam's timing sounds rather propitious given that Merlin's – probably rightfully – avoiding him.

“Yes,” says Elena, sitting on his mat, Ollie climbing all over her. “Biochemistry. It's very important and he asked me if I could take his place with Ollie?”

“He hasn't called or said anything for three days,” Arthur says, forcing the words out even though his throat is suddenly so dry. “I assumed that meant...” that he'd never be back. But he doesn't say that. Of course the thought's occurred to him and he can't say he doesn't understand why Merlin would have made such a decision. But he isn't prepared to put his heart on his sleeve for this girl – however nice she is – to see. “--he'd resigned.”

The light of understanding flashes in Elena's eyes. “No, he hasn't. He asked me to look after Ollie. So I'm sure he means to...” Elena's voice falters, making it clear she knows more than she's implying. “I don't know what he means to do, to be quite honest. And if I did I'm not sure I should tell you. I'm just here to take his place for a day. I'm his stand in. Like a supply teacher!”

Arthur nods his head, massaging hiss forehead with his fingers as if the gesture would help him find words that would work in this situation. “Just tell him,” he says, overcoming a little voice in his head that's telling him that he's putting himself out there and that that's emotionally dangerous, “that I'm sorry and I'd love to talk to him.”

The corners of Elena's mouth lift. “I'll remember to,” she says enthusiastically. “Now, where's this beauty's leash?”

Arthur provides it for her. “Just be careful with him. He's a bit enthusiastic on the leash.”

“Hey,” Elena says, rolling her eyes, “I'm a strong girl. Don't worry.”

He watches her go feeling as if a weight had lifted from off his shoulders. Since he's relaxed, he folds the yoga mattress away and makes himself a milkshake.

By the time he's drank it all and worked his way through half his work email in-tray, Elena has come back.

She looks sweaty and as much of a mess as Merlin does when he returns from similar activities. Her jeans are three inches deep in mud and her hair's flying in every which way. If Merlin had long hair it would do the same, he feels, understanding, at least superficially, why the two of them are friends. They share a total sense of neglect for appearances. “Your dog is such fun,” Elena says, unhitching his leash and giving it back to Arthur. “Merlin's taught him some very nifty tricks.”

Arthur hangs the leash over a hook near the door and glances back around. “You sure you don't want anything to drink? Merlin always comes back parched from a run with Ollie.”

She's looking like she's considering the option when her mobile rings. She fishes it out of her jeans pocket and takes the call with a sheepish look.

“Hiya, Merlin,” she says. “How did it go?”

Something goes bump in that area of Arthur's chest corresponding to his heart. He knows he shouldn't but he listens in, watches Elena for clues that'll tell him something about Merlin, and acts as though he isn't, all the while feeling like a heel about it.

At first her face is giving off a pretty happy vibe but then her hand goes to her heart and her face falls. “All right, I'll be there.”

She pockets her phone and tells him, “Um, I need to go. There's been... It's horrible really. And I should go. Oh my God.”

He stops her before she can get to the door, a hand on her shoulder. “Elena, please. You can't say that something horrible has happened and then go. Please, tell me what's going on.”

She looks him in the eye, searching for something. Whatever her study's told her, she slumps and says, “It's Merlin's uncle. He's had chest pains and a neighbour thought fit to call an ambulance. Gaius is at the A&E now. The neighbour's warned Merlin. But Merlin's at uni and he says he wants to rush there. He asked me to drive him because he's shaking, his hands are trembling and shit... he fears it was a heart attack. I've got to go, see?”

“I'll come with you.”

“But--” Elena objects, making fish noises.

“I've got a pretty fast car.” He dangles his keys before her eyes.

“Right, fast car trumps all.”

Despite his fast car, it takes him an hour to drive them to Kingston, where Merlin's faculty, or so Elena tells him, has facilities.

Braving the A3 is nothing compared to worrying about Merlin and his current frame of mind though. He doesn't know much about Merlin's relationship to his uncle but he knows Merlin's a loving person and this must have shaken him up.

Arthur remembers what it's like, fearing for someone you hold dear, hoping their body won't give up on them, living in dread of something that is outside of your control. He remembers and doesn't wish it on anybody.

Sure, he was seven back then, and had no control over something that ultimately didn't depend on him, what he could or couldn't do. He realises that he experienced the loss even more keenly then because of a lack of understanding on his part. Because he thought he must be to blame – somehow. Back then he was direction-less, lost, and feeling guilty over something he had no part in. It took him years and a good psychologist to get to grips with that. But the bitter pang of missing a part of you, someone you love dearly – like a mother or uncle – isn't any the less sharp because you have the tools to interpret it correctly.

Arthur preys Merlin won't have to go through any of that. The mere thought saddens him.

“Are you sure you're all right?” Elena asks putting her hands out as if she wants to shield herself.

Arthur realises his driving style is as fidgety as they come; with him tapping on the steering wheel and braking at short intervals even though there's no need to he's certainly not providing a comfortable ride. “I'm sorry,” he says, letting the clutch go. “I was lost in thought.”

He makes a point of driving in a more prudent fashion and they get to their destination in one piece.

Merlin emerges from a modern half brick, half cement building, just as they coast the campus, but when he spots Arthur's car his pace changes and he stomps up to it.

Elena lowers the window and Merlin leans close to say, “What are you doing here?”

“Elena told me what happened,” Arthur says, turning the ignition off. “I wanted to be of help.”

Merlin is on the edge of saying something Arthur thinks is going to be scathing but his eyes soften, his nostrils flare in a sniff, and he nods. Throwing his rucksack in, he climbs into the car and slams the door shut. “Do you know where the Chest Hospital in Bethnal Green is?”

“By and large,” Arthur says and turns the car on again.

The drive is silent or mostly so. Merlin is too tense to say a word; his shoulders bunched up in a way that has to hurt. He keeps tapping his foot on the mat, providing a rhythm Arthur unconsciously subsumes in his driving. When Arthur has a look in the rear view mirror it's to see Merlin alternately biting his nails or chewing on his lower lip.

Thankfully, the ordeal doesn't last long and they get back to London in no time. While Arthur parks the car Elena and Merlin hurry over to the emergency care centre where Gaius has been admitted. When Arthur finds them again they're both sitting on plastic chairs, gazing into space.

They look pretty desolate and Arthur dreads the worst. He clears his throat in as unobtrusive a manner as possible and that gets him their combined attention. “They're running tests,” Elena says.

“They said they need to understand what's happened,” Merlin says in a dry little voice that doesn't sound like him at all. “They'll have an answer soon.” Merlin looks at the door leading to the inner sanctum of the A&E.

A doctor in theatre whites emerges and Merlin sits up rigidly but the doctor only cuts across to the vending machines and Merlin deflates back again.

Arthur takes a seat in the chair next to Elena's.

“You don't have to wait with us,” Merlin says in the same forlorn tone as before. If there's a trace of rebuke in it it's lost in the general note of sadness that laces his voice.

“No,” Arthur says as calmly and gently as he can so as not to rattle Merlin, “I'd rather wait here with you, if you're all right with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Merlin says. Before going to the door again, his eyes cut to Arthur and there's a gentle light in them that lifts Arthur's heart. It reminds Arthur of how Merlin was with him in the beginning, when they'd just met and were tiptoeing around the idea of being friends – or just close.

They wait for hours. Elena falls asleep. Doctors come and go and the light outside evolves into a sombre dusk. Merlin tries to tackle nurses and doctors alike in a bid to shake some info out of them, but they all come up with the same vague replies until Merlin, defeated, marches back to the same line of plastic chairs they've been occupying for a good part of the afternoon.

By eight Merlin is a total mess, pale and ready to spring like a jack in the box at the smallest noise.

“You need some fresh air,” Arthur says, trying to tug Merlin up from his perch. “Come on.”

“What if they come back and...”

Arthur fetches a protracted sigh. “They haven't yet and you need to unwind, come on.”

Merlin doesn't look up. “If you're tired you can go home.”

“I'm not,” Arthur says, pulling at Merlin once again. This time Merlin goes with him and lets himself be directed to the nearest exit, which leads them to an inner courtyard, surrounded by modern stark buildings that do little to set Arthur at ease. How you can find peace here is anyone's guess. They'll have to make do.

There's an emergency stairway and Merlin sits on the lowest tread, legs splayed out, elbows on his knees, fingers locked. He bows his head and for a moment Arthur fears he's about to vomit. He doesn't, even though the pose is eerily similar to that of someone who's about to.

Arthur doesn't say or do anything; he merely hopes the brief change of scenery will do Merlin good.

At length, the wail of an ambulance in the background, Merlin says, “It's crippling. This fear I have.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, hunkering down, his hand on Merlin's arm. “It's normal.”

Merlin lifts his head; from under a raised eyebrow he meets Arthur's eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because I remember losing my mother,” Arthur says, battling the pain that's still there after all these years. He's never shared this with anyone, barring his psychologist. Doing so now is as scary as he thought it would be but the truth is he couldn't bear not to. He can't not help Merlin if he can. “You're coping fine because there's no way of doing this right. Believe me.”

“I--” Merlin starts but then he trails off. His chest rises with an intake of air and then he tries again. “He's the only person I have left and he's quite brilliant. He's... half raised me. He was old already but he took me in and he never said... You know it's too tough for me or anything. He never complained about the burden a kid would put on him. He...”

Merlin's voice cracks and Arthur's mouth goes suddenly dry at the emotion in it. He wants to be able to say something that will make Merlin feel good again, bring a smile back to his lips. If he could, he would give him a gift of happiness and make sure that nothing could ever harm him again. But he can't. He's as powerless in this as Merlin, so he listens.

“He's never been rich,” Merlin continues, “but he's always... done his best by me. He's...” Merlin gives half a laugh. “A terrible cook but he always made me dinner when we lived together. It was... basically stuff like half-charred toasts or gruel but he never missed a meal. Never even ordered in though I secretly prayed he would.”

Merlin dabs at his eyes with his sleeve. “Arthur.” Merlin says his name as if it's an appeal. “What happens if he dies?”

As soon as he's said that Merlin starts up and throws himself at Arthur for a hug; his arms tighten around Arthur's shoulders, vice like, and he buries his head in his neck. Merlin's body is so tightly coiled he's trembling with it and Arthur hesitates before touching him for fear he will snap.

Arthur's heart fills to bursting point as he silently holds Merlin. He doesn't lie because he has no key allowing him to read the feature and because he knows how awful giving false reassurances is. He remembers being told that nothing bad would happen; that his mother would just be okay and then they'd all go to Regent's Park and see the animals at the zoo. Instead of doing what his family friends did by him, he just offers his presence as a buoy.

They stake like that for what could be a good long minute until Arthur says, “Let's go back.”

They do and when the regain the corridor they find Elena talking to a doctor. Merlin rushes up to them, asking, “Any news?”

The doctor introduces herself as Doctor Caerleon, a cardiology consultant from the hospital's Heart Attack Centre. “I understand Mr Garrick is your uncle?”

“Yes, well, great-uncle really,” says Merlin, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “How's he?”

“He hasn't had a cardiac arrest if that's what you're fearing,” Dr Caerleon explains in the careful tones of doctors all over the world. “He suffered from an attack of unstable angina.”

Merlin starts, his body uncoiling with relief.

“That's still alarming,” Dr Caerleon cautions. “He's still at risk. But we've prescribed beta blockers, a new diet aimed at working on his cholesterol levels, and a specific exercise regimen. We've also put him on vasodilators for the time being to reduce his heart's work-load, but,” she says, with a cautious smile, “if the patient's follows instructions there's no reason to fear a worsening of his condition.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Merlin says, shaking her hand too energetically, his eyes wet with emotion. 

 

****

 

Merlin resumes coming round a few days after his uncle is discharged. He doesn't say anything about his attendance patterns; he just takes things up where he left them off.

Arthur doesn't probe but does make sure Merlin knows Arthur isn't indifferent. Arthur wants him to understand that while Arthur won't ask personal questions Merlin may not wish to answer, he's still interested in his and his uncle's well being. Whilst Gaius' is strictly health related; Merlin's more emotional than not.

Arthur isn't on solid ground with Merlin yet so instead of asking directly he goes the circuitous route. “How's your uncle?”

Merlin grins knowingly. “After a lifetime of looking after others, he refuses to accept he's not entirely all right but we had a chat and he agrees to keep to the diet the doctors gave him.”

“I'm glad.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says, fiddling with Ollie's leash. The leash dangles in his hands and Ollie skips with the clear intention of snatching it. “I was wondering... You and Ellie have been really great and I wanted to thank you.”

Arthur is stashing some documents away but stops mid-action. “You don't have to. Anybody would have done the same.”

“Not true,” Merlin tells him, voice full of determined gratitude. Merlin ducks his chin. “So I meant to invite you to dinner – at Uncle Gaius'. I'm staying with him for a while, see, and we talked about what happened. He says you've been a friend. He's grateful and he's the one who had the idea in the first place.”

“Merlin,” Arthur hesitates.

Merlin gets him without Arthur having to cross the Ts. “I want it too. So if you don't think it strange, I'd like to invite you to dinner at ours.” Merlin passes a hand through his hair. His inattention is enough for Ollie. His jaws close around one end and, once his possession is assured, the miscreant retires to his dog blanket where he starts chewing on the leather bits. Merlin lets it go in favour of finishing his little speech. “It'll be a low fat meal because we need to worry about Gaius' arteries, but we'll both do our best and we'd be happy if you came.”

Arthur can't very well turn that down. More, he doesn't want to. Despite feeling uncomfortable with Merlin thinking he owes him for so little, he finds he's really looking forward to meeting Merlin's uncle and finding out more about Merlin himself: how he interacts with his family, who he is when he's not at Arthur's bringing a ray of sunshine with him, who he is in his down time.

He wishes he could get to know Merlin better and in every way he's allowed. So he says, “I'd really love to.”

“The food's not going to be fancy,” Merlin says. His cheeks pink up at that. “Not like the stuff you're used to.”

“Merlin, I'd love to.”

“And I don't think uncle Gaius owes a proper matched set of dishes.”

“Merlin, I'd love to, all right?” Arthur walks over and places both hands on his shoulders, giving him a tiny shake he accompanies with a smile. “I'd love to.”

The edges of Merlin's lips curve upwards. “I was thinking Thursday.”

Arthur puffs out his cheeks. “I'll be on a business trip. I meant to tell you about it and ask you if you could take Ollie for a couple of days.”

Merlin's smile dims. “I shouldn't have asked. I understand. I wanted to--”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, his grip on Merlin's shoulders tightening. “I really want to come. And I've really got a meeting in Belgium. I'm on the look out for new continental partners for Cam Lot. But as soon as I'm back, I'm there. Okay?”

Merlin's tongue licks at his lips. He nods slowly. “Okay, all right. Let's make it next week then. And I'll be glad to have Ollie with me while you're gone. He'll make Uncle Gaius happy.”

Arthur beams at Merlin and even though he should probably tone it down a notch or two, he doesn't. He sees no reason to.

Arthur leaves London two days later. Bruxelles is a fine city. He doesn't see much of it since he's on an appointment rota that leaves him almost no breathing space, but he sees enough of it to judge it beautiful.

During the day they're trapped in offices or ducking from car to car to go to different meetings. But the evenings are his after a fashion. So he does some exploring of his own. One night his new partners take him out to dinner and the mood is much more convivial.

Arthur has Waterzooi served in the Place du Marché. It's a beautiful backdrop, the cathedral looming high to the side, the tracery of its Gothic arches lending solemnity to the spot, the spiralling bell tower looking to pierce the sky.

Beer flows as does conversation but there's a part of Arthur that's not focused on the here and now, on this occasion that's meant to relieve the stress of long hours spent in business talks. There's a part of him that can't enjoy it. He provides the right answers, of course, and takes part in the conversation with his Belgian counterparts, laughing when he ought, sharing jokes when the situation seems to call for it. But he gets easily distracted and contemplative, the beer making his head light and contributing to his sense of disconnection.

“Missing your wife?” Monsieur Blommens asks, a drop of beer glistening on his upper lip.

“I suppose I didn't say,” Arthur says musingly. “I got my divorce.”

Monsieur Blommens gives him a slap on the back. “So sorry to hear that. So sad. I understand your moodiness now.”

Arthur flinches and he adjusts his grip on his beer glass, fingers slipping and leaving misty prints all over it. “It's not that. I think I'm fine with that. I was...” Arthur stops short of making a clean breast of it. Monsieur Blommens likely isn't expecting a full confession of his feelings. “I was thinking of something else.”

Monsieur Blommens stabs him with his elbow. “Someone else.”

“Perhaps,” Arthur says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“That should be celebrated,” Monsieur Blommens says, hailing a waiter in a green apron for the express purpose of ordering more beer. “The Belgian way.”

The toast is to new beginnings. Arthur isn't sure he's got one waiting for him but he drinks all the same.

More beer makes everyone tipsy, so a walkabout is suggested to shake the fumes of alcohol off.

Arthur's group doesn't stray far. They're all wobbly because of their dose of liquid courage but they do take in a few extra sights. They wander the streets around the Grand Place, hitting a few bars, bouncing around to some wild bass rhythms. At the height of his tipsiness Arthur takes a shot of the Manneken Piss statue with his mobile and in an odd fit of perverse stupidity he texts it to Merlin, adding, “ _maybe it'll make your uncle laugh.” ___

__The return text volleys back within seconds. _“the statue of a pissing boy? he'd think my friends are pervs.”-__ _

___“it's a national symbol, i'll have u know.”_ _ _

___“same but thanks for thinking of me when sending dirty statue pic.”_ _ _

__There's tiny little beads of sweat beginning to form above Arthur's eyebrows. _“was thinking of u.”__ _

__Given that he's not sober enough to continue bantering while treading a fine line between the proper and the improper, he turns his mobile off._ _

__The following three days are the slowest of Arthur's life. The office Cam Lot people have been provided with for the transaction is spacious, airy and offers an aerial view of the Noordruimte district. But it seems like a cage to him and he finds himself counting the days till this is over, till he can take that flight back and have some time for himself._ _

__He's got things to do with his time._ _

__Finally they get their contract signed with but a few modifications, the transactions are over and everybody seems satisfied. The future looks bright and Arthur's managerial sixth sense has been confirmed. This contract will do wonders for Cam Lot. He only misses having experienced more of the place. Arthur leaves Bruxelles with a thought to returning to it when he's sorted himself out and can better appreciate its sights._ _

__He makes it to Gaius the day after he gets home. When the door opens it's Merlin he sees first – and Ollie too. His dog must have recognised his footfall. Arthur hands Merlin his gifts, a box of Belgian chocolates he bought in Bruxelles together with a bottle of wine he got at the airport's duty free. Merlin thanks him before Ollie can welcome him as any self-respecting dog would, with a lot of high pitched whining sounds and paws all over Arthur's suit._ _

__“Come,” Merlin says, holding Ollie down and distracting him with a treat. He leads Arthur into the bowels of Gaius' old-fashioned flat. “Ellie's not here yet but Uncle Gaius is in the lounge watching telly.”_ _

__Uncle Gaius is indeed sitting in an armchair whose floral pattern is threadbare but still distinguishable enough to give Arthur a headache. When Gaius sees him, he stands up a little laboriously although he shakes Arthur's hand with gusto. As if he's testing his grip. If the man wasn't so old Arthur'd suspect him of a macho show down. “So--” Arthur's treated to a pair of busy eyebrows standing at attention. “You're Merlin's employer, I presume.”_ _

__“Yes, indeed,” Arthur says politely. “Merlin's been a great help to me.” He tries not to think of that one moment in time when Merlin's hand was on his dick and his weight was pinning him down. As he engages Gaius, he tries not to remember the taste of Merlin's mouth, but can't quite. It stays true even though he's not a business-man for nothing and can dissimulate with the best of them. This means, hopefully, that Gaius can't see through him. “He's quite good with dogs.”_ _

__“That I know,” says the old man as if this is a personal joke he's sharing reluctantly. “Trust Merlin to get the job he dreamed of when he was ten.”_ _

__Arthur looks to Merlin. “Really, Merlin. You wanted to dog-sit?”_ _

__“I've always liked nature,” Merlin tells him, gazing away as a very faint blush spreads across his cheeks. “So, yeah, that was one of the things I wanted to do.”_ _

__“But what is it that you're really studying?” Arthur asks, his voice inquisitive. “Elena said something about Biochemistry.”_ _

__“Merlin is quite proficient at it,” says Gaius, pride, albeit toned down by a dose of sharp humour, plain in his tone. “He's completing his BSc in the subject.”_ _

__“That's more than a year away,” Merlin reminds him in a long-suffering tone that makes Arthur think the complaint is not a new one. “I still have to present my Bio-science project.”_ _

__“That only means that you'll have to get your head down on it when the time comes,” Gaius says in the tone of parents everywhere._ _

__Arthur hides a smile behind twitching fingers. Merlin goes fully tomato red and says, “Uncle!” in the tone of children everywhere. When it looks as though he might make a fool of himself with more protestations, he's literally saved by the bell. The door bell in this case._ _

__Elena tornadoes in, greeting everybody with a kiss on the cheek and managing to summarise her week for all present as she goes through her round of handshakes._ _

__With Elena there, there's no reason to delay dinner, so Merlin repairs to the kitchen, telling them to sit tight._ _

__For lack of space around the table – and generally around the flat – Elena's squished up to Arthur's side. She uses the seat arrangement to whisper quite loudly in his ear. “Merlin can't cook very well. I hope you had a full lunch today.”_ _

__Arthur's mind goes back to the breakfast Merlin made him when Arthur contracted the flu. “That explains the scrambled eggs.”_ _

__“What scrambled eggs?” Elena asks. Her eyes go so wide you'd think the question was really loaded or that she expects the answer to be really interesting._ _

__“The ones he made me for breakfast once and burnt,” Arthur says before thinking it through. Gaius, who's sitting opposite him, subjects him to some more of the Eyebrow Show and Arthur belatedly realises how that might sound. “Because I was ill,” he says. “And he stayed the night. Because I was ill.”_ _

__“Oh, Merlin is such a sweet person,” Elena says, “though his comfort food may well be hara-kiri food.”_ _

__Merlin bounces in with a food casserole. “Are you two dissing my food?” he asks as he sets the ceramic container down._ _

__“I have three words,” says Elena, holding up as many fingers. “Tex mex night.”_ _

__“Oh, come on,” Merlin says, “I just misread the recipe.”_ _

__Elena tips her head back so she can look at Merlin, who's hovering behind her chair. “Another three words. The Scottish mince pies.”_ _

__“Oh, cut it, El.” Merlin takes off his over-sized mitt ovens. “I was trying to go traditional”_ _

__“Mrs Dochraid feared it was cat.”_ _

__Merlin throws a napkin at Elena. “I would never. And you're scaring Arthur.”_ _

__Arthur is in fact leaning forwards so he can better observe the contents of the dish. Strata of melted bean mash make it impossible. Yet Merlin's expectant air makes him boldly state, “No, I'm not so easily scared. I'll have a slice.”_ _

__Merlin serves up. He dishes very large portion before allowing himself one. Arthur tucks in, making a big production of cutting out a slice of Merlin's goo and bringing it to his mouth. It's certifiably the most disgusting thing Arthur's ever eaten; the taste so pervasive he doubts it'll wash off even if he guzzles vast amounts of water. He tightens his jaw and tries to swallow without letting the food touch his tongue. It's a bit of a lost cause though. Going by her expression, Elena is doing the same._ _

__He lasts until Merlin sits down and takes a bite out of his concoction. After spitting into his napkin, face green, he says, “God, you could have told me it was disgusting.” The green hue splotching his face abates. Merlin grins. “But I love you for trying to lie to me about it. It's quite sweet.”_ _

__There's a warmth in Merlin's eyes that steals Arthur's breath. It makes Arthur's heart beat swiftly with happiness._ _

__They all laugh but Arthur can't very well forget that one moment._ _

__The only ones who get to eat anything that night are Gaius, because he has his new, low cholesterol diet food he declares insipid (Arthur'd go with no taste over Merlin's warring ones) and Ollie, because he's got dog food._ _

__Since dining is actually out of the equation now, they spend the evening in conversation. Most of the stories told revolve around Merlin since he's the common factor among them. At first Arthur feels a little pained at having no Merlin stories of his own but he's greedy for any titbit. He listens avidly to what Elena and Gaius have to say, enjoying the mood._ _

__Elena tells them about first meeting Merlin. “We just ran into each other at uni. He was running down the stairs and I was doing the same only coming from the opposite direction. He was late and I was lost. And we collided so painfully. He landed right on top of me and had one hand on my left tit. He got so red when he realised. So I burst out laughing and told him--”_ _

__“Oh, no,” said Merlin, hiding his shaking head behind his palms. “You're not telling them that.”_ _

__“I told him,” Elena continued undaunted, “that if that made him feel bad I could cop a feel of his bollocks. Merlin went puce. Even his ears did. I felt so bad about embarrassing him I was stammering and apologising... So I sort of did cop a feel. You know, to help him feel less embarrassed.”_ _

__Merlin's now hitting his head on the corner of the table in mock despair. “Not that story, please.”_ _

__“It doesn't surprise me at all,” says Merlin's uncle. “Merlin is only a little shy now but that is nothing to what he was like in his teens. He'd go through this embarrassing ritual: when he wanted to have some time alone with his left hand and didn't want me to suspect, he'd--”_ _

__“Uncle, no,” says Merlin, “Arthur will think I was a young perverted idiot--”_ _

__Elena snorts. “Not worrying about what I'll think?”_ _

__“I won't deign that with an answer,” Merlin says while his uncle proceeds with the story even if Merlin threatens to go hide under the table._ _

__Arthur laughs, hoping Merlin sees his merriment for what it is, good cheer._ _

__When finally Merlin takes courage and locks eyes with him, everything changes._ _

__The air gets charged or at least it does for Arthur._ _

__Fondness lights up Merlin's features. Arthur doesn't know whether it's for him or the assembled company, but the warmth in them is spectacular and breathtaking. Arthur wants it on himself. No one has quite ever been like this for Arthur._ _

__Light-headed, he takes a long slow breath, his eyes holding Merlin tight._ _

__Merlin does the same as if he's trying to get a read out of Arthur, his lips quirked softly up, the creases around his eyes multiplying._ _

__Arthur drags his gaze from Merlin's face, looking around the living room for a brief moment before meeting his eyes again._ _

__Nobody says anything until Elena makes a gargling sound, claps her hands together, and says, “So Arthur, you and Merlin are doing the dishes.”_ _

__This takes them to the kitchen where they end up hands deep in warm water, elbows brushing, Merlin's side so close to his Arthur can feel his body heat. When Merlin hands him a sudsy dish and their fingers graze, Arthur almost loses his hold and drops it. Merlin helps him retrieve it and they're focused on exchanging 'thank yous' and 'you're welcomes'. But when they both resume cleaning dishes, Arthur drops the fork he was trying to free of grease, and grabs Merlin's hand under the soapy water._ _

__“There's something I want to say to you,” Arthur says, wetting his lips, “and I hope I haven't lost my chance.”_ _

__“Arthur--”_ _

__Arthur squeezes Merlin's fingers. “No, listen. I know I've likely confused you. My words and behaviour have been less than linear. I'm going to confuse you even more now, but I'd love to ask you out and hope your answer will be...”_ _

__“Yes,” Merlin says before Arthur is finished. “Yes, I want to go out with you and prove to you that I can make you like m--”_ _

__Arthur dives forward and fits their mouths together. With the edges of his lips he can feel the edges of Merlin's, the lovely bow at the top and the way they shape off into sometimes dimpled cheeks at the corners._ _

__The touch thrills him. It's not quite as deliberate as the first time Merlin kissed him, what with the shocked expectation that went with it, and he's not so out of it as when Merlin did it that second time._ _

__So Arthur can't get enough of this one kiss. This one is perfect, lacking the self-consciousness of their first attempt and the incoherence of the second. He tastes the straight lines of Merlin's teeth with his tongue, pushes past, meets Merlin's and then he's dipping his tongue in and out of Merlin's mouth._ _

__As Arthur kisses him with deep, slow strokes, Merlin cradles his face with one soapy hand, foam and bubbles running down Arthur's jaw._ _

__They pull on each other's lips one moment more and then they part for air._ _

__“It's a date,” Merlin says. “I think.”_ _

__“It's a date.”_ _

__

__****_ _

__

__Having a date with Merlin means that Arthur will have to find someone else to dog-sit for him. A third party that's neither him nor Merlin._ _

__A thorough search at first yields no one. Arthur tries George (allergic), two other office underlings (scared of big dogs) and Elena (on a date herself). He at last lands Leon in his net though he has to promise him a free day in an exchange of favours. And listen to him say, “Oh, so you've made up your mind about your young piece of hot totty."_ _

__Having a date with Merlin also entails figuring out what to do on their actual night out. They've settled on an indicative date – a week day to keep things casual – but Arthur has reserved the right to take some time to decide on the venue._ _

__The fact is, Arthur thinks as he googles 'funky date ideas', that the age difference between him and Merlin is worrying him and affecting his ability to choose a place. It ought to be simple but every time he faces the same dilemma: what if Merlin doesn't like his idea of a good time? He doesn't want Merlin to see him as boring or stale on their very first try._ _

__He wants to give 'them' a chance. He owes it to himself as well as Merlin. Especially after what he put Merlin through. So he embarks on an extensive search courtesy of Google. He's on the lookout for something that Merlin will actively enjoy and that Arthur himself won't loathe. Admittedly, he's also trying for something that will score him points. He doesn't come up with many options he feels are viable and that's when he starts despairing._ _

__When he was in uni his idea of a date was mostly anything that would lead straight to sex. After such nights he ended up feeling momentarily satisfied and eventually as lonely as he'd been before. Not a phase he wants to go through again. Not now. (Although he can admit Merlin's featuring quite extensively in his sexual imaginings.)_ _

__Later, with Gwen, he tried to be the perfect gentleman. He booked them ballet tickets, French restaurants tables, and weekend getaways that, Gwen later told him, were eerily reminiscent of Bridget Jonesian mini-breaks._ _

__Years later Arthur can safely admit to himself he'd been playing by the romance novel rule book and following it too closely, seldom allowing for genuine moments and impromptu flights of enthusiasm to come from him. Back then he was so determined to be chivalric and good to Gwen that he often went overboard. Gwen laughed and took it with good grace, but seeing as they ended up divorcing, he doesn't want to go there either._ _

__He can learn from his mistakes. What he needs now is something that'll allow him a shot at impressing Merlin while being good for him too._ _

__He's seven tabs deep into his Google search when Merlin texts him: _do u rlly want 2 date me or R u only buying time?__ _

__When Arthur reads that text he does better than answer. He rings Merlin back. He bypasses Merlin's hello and blurts out, “I wouldn't have asked otherwise.”_ _

__“Just checking,” Merlin tells him. “I thought that maybe you'd changed your mind again.”_ _

__Arthur swivels his chair away from the computer screen. “Touché,” he says. Merlin's disappointed face is not something he wants to contemplate again, not when he's the one to have done the letting down. He attempts to explain as best he can. “When I rejected you I was confused.”_ _

__“Are you still?”_ _

__“No,” Arthur says with determination. “I thought you knew.”_ _

__“I know,” says Merlin. Arthur can hear him turn pages. He wonders if he's revising, studying for an exam. “I just had a moment of doubt, all right?”_ _

__“I could say the same about that bloke I saw you kissing,” Arthur points out, “but I'm not asking questions because I know you wouldn't have agreed to going out with me if there was something definitive going on there.”_ _

__Merlin fetches a sigh that sounds as loud as it would if they were in the same room. “If you want to know I wanted something to happen there. I tried to get you out of my head. But I couldn't. So I've got nothing going with Daegal. Can't force things. Feelings. I like you far too much not to try giving us a chance.”_ _

__Arthur smiles into the receiver. “I guess we both want the same thing, then.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Merlin says breathily. “So what's stopping you?”_ _

__Arthur rubs the bridge of his nose. “I, um--”_ _

__“You 'um' what?” Merlin laughs._ _

__“I don't know where to take you,” Arthur says quickly as though he's ripping off a stubborn piece of plaster._ _

__“I see you're doing some nice overthinking there,” Merlin tells him knowingly. “I happen to know the perfect place.”_ _

__“Really?” Arthur says, eyebrows shooting up. “Where do you want to go?”_ _

__Merlin starts explaining. “There's a place on Old Street that does open mic nights.”_ _

__“Open mic as in stand-up comedy?” Arthur asks, fearing Merlin will ask him to actually step on a stage and make a fool of himself. To impress Merlin he would but he hopes he won't have to._ _

__“Yeah,” Merlin tells him in a light, conversational tone. “You just need to phone in beforehand.”_ _

__Mouth a bit dry, Arthur says, “I really don't want to rain on your parade, but--” He clears his throat. He can do this. He's learnt the value of being honest and truthful in his relationships. “I'm really not keen to go on stage.”_ _

__Merlin barks a laugh. “I didn't mean you. I wouldn't force you to without checking with you first. I meant me.”_ _

__“You want to perform?” Arthur asks, a little bit confused. That talk at Gaius' about Merlin being a slightly shy teen left him with a specific impression, one, it seems, he ought to revise. Merlin seems to want to strut on a stage, for people to see. “Really?”_ _

__“Sure,” Merlin says merrily. “There's something I want to do. I have a little ace up my sleeve.”_ _

__As it happens Merlin's ace up the sleeve is something quite remarkable. Merlin doesn't merely do stand-up comedy; he does it while juggling. The little feat gets the Cavendish Arms' patrons both laughing and clapping. In five minutes flat Merlin charms an entire audience – minus one boorish fool – and Arthur to boot._ _

__Arthur is fascinated by Merlin's show. It's good-humoured, entertaining and showing a side of Merlin Arthur wasn't privy to. He can't quite take his eyes off Merlin either because he's smiling from jugging ear to jugging ear and so clearly having a ball. There's something about Merlin tonight that Arthur can't put is finger on, though now Arthur is twice drawn to him._ _

__This has never happened before, not quite like this. Merlin is... special and Arthur wants him to know. So he thumps his feet on the ground to show his appreciation, claps and laughs at every joke and clamours for more at the end of each one. The more he does so the more he finds his heart swelling and filling his throat. This has been a great evening, fun and uncomplicated and Merlin's been everything Arthur could wish for in a date._ _

__If he thinks about it, Arthur can't wish for a better one. For once he feels like he's on top of the world. Like everything can happen. Like he's both in control and at Merlin's mercy. It's thrilling._ _

__When he's done Merlin bows and jumps off the stage, beaming, only to nearly barge into a customer who's en route to the loo. Merlin apologises; the man does the same. The event doesn't ruffle Merlin and doesn't seem to matter at all. Merlin returns to his and Arthur's table with a huge smile, achievement sitting nicely on his face. “God, I've always wanted to do that,” he says, sinking in the chair opposite Arthur's._ _

__“Glad you scratched that hitch?” Arthur asks with a twitch of his lips._ _

__“Yeah,” Merlin tells him from behind his raised pint glass. “One of many I intend to see to.”_ _

__At that heat travels through Arthur's body although he makes himself stay both put and silent. There's some things you don't rush. There's some things that take time, this being one of them. He takes Merlin's hand though, allowing himself that much, and settles in to let the evening unfold._ _

__They watch three more acts. (Arthur may be biased but he thinks Merlin's the funniest and liveliest.) They have one more beer and a bite of something. When they leave they go walkabout around Shoreditch, taking in a few bars or just strolling around when the mood takes them. There's enough to do on a night like this – with milling throngs of people out and about just like them – that being rudderless feels okay._ _

__They're crossing the street, aimless, brushing shoulders as they go, a low buzz playing under Arthur's skin, when Merlin tells him. “Oh, just fuck first date rules. I really want to take you home.”_ _

__A car blaring its horn at Merlin loitering by the zebra crossing, Arthur pulls Merlin on the pavement, stops short and asks, “And by that you mean--”_ _

__Merlin's lips twist in a self-derisive smile. “I mean I want the night to end in sex.” Merlin licks his lips, fists balled, body going taut. “If you want it to too, of course.”_ _

__Arthur moves his hands from Merlin's waist and shoulder respectively and his thumb makes a pass that follows the edges of Merlin's lips. “You don't know how much I want to,” Arthur says, before rushing out more words. “That day I was dreaming about you.”_ _

__Merlin leans closer and his lips curve into a smile against Arthur's thumb. “Ha, so that wasn't a generic wet dream?”_ _

__“No,” Arthur admits in one breath. “It was about you.” Arthur tugs Merlin closer by the collar of his shearling-lined padded jacket. “Specifically about you fucking me.”_ _

__Their lips connect. Merlin uses teeth and tongue, teases and soothes. He sucks and nips and laves. For an electrifying moment he grazes the tip of his tongue across Arthur's only to let it slip away before pushing too far. Leaning away, he says. “That can be arranged.”_ _

__The tube journey seems to last ages, eons. They're too close, side by side, bodies brushing every time the train lurches or comes to a halt. Arthur's pressed against a pole; Merlin's draped half over him so Arthur can smell his breath, feel his body – its mass, its contours – wherever it touches his. The proximity invites lustful thoughts, fantasising, and Arthur's high-strung well before they hit Merlin's flat._ _

__But when they do get there, there's no more cause for postponing._ _

__Door closed behind them, Merlin backs him against the nearest wall and puts his hands on his sides, smiling as he stares, sweet and wanting, into Arthur's eyes._ _

__As for Arthur, Merlin's gaze floods him with both affection and need. Need most especially, but the feeling isn't at all divorced from the heart. It takes a second, two, for Arthur's patience to fragment, and for him to grab Merlin's head so he can pull his mouth to his._ _

__The kiss that follows is everything Arthur would want a kiss to be. It's warm and passionate and there's no hesitation. It's something he can lose himself in, something Arthur hasn't enjoyed in a good, long while. It does more than turn him on, though he's starting to harden in response. It makes him yearn and dream._ _

__So Arthur's hands go around Merlin in an effort to get him close. Releasing a little groan, he grinds against him._ _

__Pleased, Merlin smiles and threads his fingers through Arthur's hair. He slides his face along the side of Arthur's and before Arthur can take another breath Merlin's pressing warm, slow kisses to any portion of his neck he can reach._ _

__Content when Merlin mouths at his Adam's apple or rasps his teeth upwards, Arthur throws his head back._ _

__Even when he's mapped as much skin as he can, Merlin doesn't stop and just plants wet kisses under his chin. Then he trails his way down again, his touch fevered and insistent even when he runs into an obstacle in the shape of Arthur's shirt._ _

__Still an obstacle it is and Merlin removes it, attacking it button by button._ _

__In the face of that Arthur starts with Merlin's belt, slipping it off with only a little fiddling. It produces a dull thud when Arthur drops it. Next comes Merlin's jacket. This one comes off with a whoosh. At the prospect of soon being naked, their breaths come faster._ _

__Brushing his knuckles down Merlin's bulge, Arthur tugs Merlin's zip down._ _

__Merlin gasps and comes at him too, undoing his belt and tugging on his shirt. They wrench it free of Arthur's trousers and then Arthur yanks it up and off._ _

__Short of leering, Merlin gazes at him appreciatively. It's silly and stupid, perhaps vain of him, but being wanted, lusted after, turns Arthur on._ _

__“Where's your bedroom?” Arthur asks, sticking his chest out._ _

__Merlin leads him there by the hand and strips Arthur of the rest of his clothes. When he has Arthur fully naked, he sits him on the bed. He makes to step back, so as to – presumably – finish undressing. “No, come here,” says Arthur, grabbing Merlin by the waist and pushing down his jeans._ _

__Merlin grins and steps out of them, shoes and socks joining them on the floor. “Happy now?”_ _

__Arthur looks to his own lap. His ruddy cock is pointing straight at Merlin, so, no, he can't say he is unhappy. But he hasn't been treated to the full monty. So he says, “Not yet,” and pulls Merlin's boxers down his legs._ _

__“Happy now?” Merlin asks again, the shadow of a slightly smug smile playing on his lips._ _

__“Very,” Arthur says, catching hold of his hips and bowing down to give the tip of Merlin's dick a thorough suck._ _

__His hand going to Arthur's shoulder for balance, Merlin moans, tipping his head back. Humming low, Arthur swirls his tongue around the head of Merlin's cock and pushes the tip into the slit. As if gutted, Merlin grunts._ _

__Thinking the noises Merlin's making are a measure of what he needs, Arthur twists his head, meaning to go down on him, but Merlin stops him, saying, “I'll come if you do that. I don't want to come now. I want to be that fantasy of yours.” He tucks his hand against his reddened cock, holding it against his taut belly._ _

__Arthur looks up at him and even though he wants Merlin in his mouth, wants to taste cock again and Merlin specifically, he gives up, because that dream of his was one of the best things to happen to him and it's been the fodder of many an erotic fantasy since. He can only imagine what reality will be like, how it will hit him._ _

__Lying down, he crosses his hands behind his head and says, “Do your worst.”_ _

__The mattress accepts his weight with a sigh and Merlin falls on top of him, searching for his mouth. He dips his tongue in, alternatively kissing him deep and nibbling on lips. Done with that for the moment, he kisses his way down Arthur’s jaw, down his throat, and licks at the sweat pooling at the hollow of it, dragging his mouth along Arthur's skin when he encounters a softer, vulnerable spot. “You taste salty,” he mumbles._ _

__“Do I?” Arthur asks, keeping Merlin's head in place at his throat._ _

__“Mmm, you do,” Merlin says, before sliding parted lips along Arthur's shoulder, along his collarbone, only to retrace his way and nudge his nose to the curve of Arthur's jaw._ _

__Arthur gets harder, starting to squirm and rut his hips for something to fuck. Their cocks rubbing against each other, against their bellies, Merlin starts moving against him too. They sob and grunt, pant and gasp._ _

__Arthur's never been particularly vocal in bed. Always believing in restraint, not showing his underbelly, he's never let go, but this feels so good he wants to sigh his pleasure and do so out loud. Tired of holding back, being proper and tight-laced, he wants to come apart. He wants Merlin to take him there._ _

__Merlin can. Merlin can by virtue of being himself._ _

__Merlin does so by teasing hot, slow kisses into his mouth, kisses that are both languorous and passionate._ _

__Arthur strains his neck so he can push his tongue deep into Merlin's mouth but Merlin weighs him back down, nudging his head back against the pillow and putting small pecks to his nose. He grins and gives Arthur one last messy kiss that's all tongues tangling around each other – one that drags noises right out of Arthur's mouth and that has Arthur pulling at Merlin's corded neck – before he starts inching lower, planting smacking kisses down Arthur's chest, down his ribs, over his heart._ _

__Arthur's hands go to Merlin's slim waist, his grip tight, controlling the stutter of Merlin's hips in the way he can't the rise of his._ _

__Sucking and lapping at the sheen of sweat that covers his body, Merlin trails his mouth downwards, plunging his tongue in his belly button._ _

__When his lips ghost close to his cock, Arthur all but bucks off the bed and Merlin smiles and holds him down by his quivering thigh._ _

__Arthur's heart pumps on in a double tempo that drums in his ears when the soft swipes of Merlin's tongue land on the underside of his cock._ _

__“Merlin,” Arthur rasps, arching off the mattress._ _

__Merlin laps wetly at Arthur for a few blissful seconds before sitting back on his haunches. “I've got condoms and lube if you want to go ahead with it?”_ _

__“I do,” he says, catching the hopeful but still guarded look in Merlin's eyes. There's no doubt about it. He wants this. Has been alternately wanting it and denying it for quite a while now. The difference is he's done denying himself in the name of projecting an image of himself that isn't even truthful. He may be proud but he's not as self-contained as he wants people to think. He can stand alone but doesn't really wish to. And, yes, he has his needs, and wants this now. “I'd hate it if you didn't go through with it.”_ _

__Merlin smiles and puts a swift kiss to his lips, one that is soft and tender, and then he leans over. A quick riffle has him producing a string of condom packets and a bottle of lube._ _

__“Turn around,” Merlin husks, moving aside to allow Arthur to do just that._ _

__Arthur settles back on the mattress, his cock pressed against the cool sheets, his head cradled in his arms. He shifts to find an angle that isn't torture on his cock and stretches his knees wide, allowing Merlin to move in between them._ _

__Merlin opens him with his touch and his kiss. With tongue and fingers. It's so different from his dream when he had Merlin slotting inside him from one moment to the next with next to no continuity. That might have been smoother and seamless, but this is more intimate and real. That fantasy has fuelled his erotic dreams for days on end but this is something else._ _

__This is more than something that hardens his cock and makes him come. This time he shudders as Merlin's tongue slides into him and moves inside him. This time the muscles of his stomach quiver, as if they might go liquid. Even his hips shoot forward involuntarily._ _

__As Arthur treads that fine line between arousal and reining in an impending orgasm, Merlin widens his hole with wet, pushy jabs of his tongue. Pleasure starts to burn low in Arthur's guts. Goose flesh rises on his skin and he's moaning and humping the mattress, spilling drops of pre-come on Merlin's sheets._ _

__When Merlin lifts his head this time, his thumb takes over for his tongue, rubbing and thrusting. Arthur's cock is leaking way more now and he tries to pull away for a second because it's too much. But then he shoves right back onto Merlin's face because it's not enough. In time Merlin adds more fingers, wet and slippery with lube. He moves them in and out, working Arthur into a panting, sweaty mess._ _

__Arthur's now alternately grunting and calling Merlin's name, fisting the pillows because he has to hold on to something._ _

__The mattress dips as Merlin crawls forwards on his knees. Arthur hears Merlin rip off the condom wrapper with his teeth and then Merlin fits them together, all body heat and wiry muscle mass. The pressure of him on his back is welcome, like a blanket that cherishes and soothes, albeit one that's pushing him into the mattress. The weight of him is something Arthur wants always to bear._ _

__By the time Merlin spreads one hand against the small of Arthur's back to keep him steadily in place, Arthur's floating on pure sensation._ _

__That's when Arthur realises he can't quite breathe with anticipation, his chest tight. There's no release, at least not until he feels the blunt head of Merlin's prick press against the rim his arsehole. “Tell me you want me," Merlin says low in his throat. “Because... because I've wanted you for so long, ever since you smiled at me.”_ _

__At this point Arthur's so high-strung he wouldn't have thought himself able to clarify. But he really needs to. “Merlin, fuck it, yes. Yes, I want you. Like mad. Like I've never wanted anyone else before. Now if you'd oblige!”_ _

__Merlin chuckles breathlessly though there's good-humour in his voice too and then presses the head of his cock against Arthur's opening, pushing against him, edging inside with a little shimmy of his hips._ _

__Fighting the intensity of the sensations and the wave of pain, Arthur grits his teeth, jaw tightening._ _

__“Arthur,” Merlin, says, rubbing up and down his flank, “are you all right?”_ _

__“Yeah.” Arthur breathes it out, rides the stab of pain out till it's nothing but the embers of a burning feeling. “It's been a long time. It's been so long.”_ _

__“All right, okay." Merlin slides his palms upwards and tightens his grip on Arthur's hips. “I'll go slow. I'll go right.”_ _

__Arthur can feel Merlin's smile as he kisses his nape, senses Merlin's breaths as they fan his skin. Merlin's lips are busy nibbling and nipping just below Arthur's hairline, doing it so tenderly shivers pass down Arthur's spine, when Merlin's mouth moves across the curve of Arthur's neck and shoulder. He ignites warmth and comfort wherever he goes._ _

__“You can move,” Arthur says into the pillow, body uncoiling, mellow, finally primed for more._ _

__Merlin hears his mumbled words because he slowly drags himself out until only the head of his cock rests inside Arthur and catches on skin, before plunging back in. He moves slowly at first, harsh breathes coming out of his mouth. Then, step by step, he begins making shorter and shorter strokes, though none of them are quite it for Arthur._ _

__“Harder,” Arthur says gutturally, frowning. “I'm almost--”_ _

__He's about to touch himself to get there, when Merlin pulls out. Arthur wants to protest but Merlin turns him around before he can, realigns himself, and drives himself deep inside. “I can be what you need.”_ _

__Arthur's pulse jumps. He nods and lifts his legs, wrapping his ankles around Merlin's arse._ _

__That's Merlin's cue to start pumping his hips. Each repetition causes Arthur to grunt and to cant his hips into the upstroke. Merlin's hitting him right, the angle such that the head of his cock bumps into Arthur's prostate with every upward shift._ _

__Tiny lines like seedlings of wrinkles forming on his brow, Merlin's face goes taut with concentration, the tension in his face and body increasing with each careful thrust. It's as if he's studying how to do this right, how to fuck right._ _

__That melts Arthur to the core, touches him more than any sexual touch ever could because there Merlin is, giving him his best, pushing himself to do well even though he must be staving off his orgasm at some cost to himself. Coming would be easy, he's so wound-up: Arthur knows Merlin could let himself go if all he wanted was his own pleasure. Merlin's determination to give as well as to get is endearing and lovely; cleaves Arthur's heart in two._ _

__He wants Arthur to enjoy this, it seems._ _

__And Arthur is. He sees sparks behind his eyes and his muscles start to burn and clench. His breath is punched out of him as Merlin steadily drives into him, till Arthur is clutching at him, clawing at the long line of Merlin's arching back, at the knobs of his spine, at the muscles of his tight arse, pulling Merlin to him to get at his lips._ _

__With a puff of breath Merlin goes; he nibbles and bites, rubs his lips across his, kisses him, a shove of tongue in Arthur's mouth. This kiss is wild. It's ripe with tongues plunging in or meeting in the space between their mouths, between their breaths._ _

__Arthur wants to smile into it even though he quite can't because he’s farther gone than he expected to be, a little broken on the inside for wanting Merlin so much._ _

__The sharp edge of his need intensifies as Merlin changes his rhythm, thrusting faster and faster. He must be close because he takes Arthur in his palm, pumping and twisting his hand down Arthur's length as if he wants Arthur to get there before he does._ _

__As Arthur comes closer to orgasm, Merlin starts mouthing under Arthur's jaw. It's when he stamps his lips across Arthur's pulse point, open and warm, and then bites that Arthur's hearing blurs, his body tightens, lighting up from the inside, and come spills forth from him, streaking Merlin's hands and painting their bellies._ _

__Hitching his hips in short little movements, Merlin smiles against his throat and lowers himself. From one moment to the next he stiffens his spine and squinches his face. (A look Arthur already loves, silly and beautiful both.) His cock twitches inside Arthur and he shakes and shakes for as long as come spurts into the condom._ _

__When Merlin's done he's so done that he won't move from the bed and Arthur's the one who has to remove the used rubber -- slipping it off Merlin's flaccid cock, whose tip is smeared with come -- and totter across the room to dispose of it. Since he's there, he makes a jaunt to the bathroom and gets a towel he dampens. He uses it to clean them both. But by then he's so tired that he can't face the prospect of returning the item to its rightful place. He merely drops it on the floor. They can throw it in the washing machine tomorrow._ _

__He doesn't think Merlin's in a position to object anyway, merely because he's lying on his side, well on his way to napping._ _

__A hand propping his head, Arthur flips onto his side so he's face to face with Merlin and studies him for quite sometime. His lips curl upwards and he ruffles Merlin's hair before nudging his face closer, nose tipped sideways, and touching his lips to Merlin's._ _

__Almost lost to sleep, Merlin's frowning and grinning both, but the beauty of him is a stab to the heart._ _

__The sight is a nice new memory to make._ _

__

__****_ _

__

__The sun's showering the beach with dancing heat waves, marking everything yellow. The sand dunes shine and reflect the glare back at it with a pure, electric radiance. Waves ripple up on to the shore and break with a soft murmur._ _

__Screeching sea-gulls fend the sky over the water, dipping their light grey wings here and there in search for food._ _

__Kids laugh and holler, build sand castles. Sunbathers are lying back on their multi-coloured towels, a book in their lap, or snore, or chat or smear themselves with either oil or sunscreen, depending on their skin tones._ _

__Arthur shields his eyes and scans the strip of beach. His eyes encompass the crowd and then finally land on Merlin. Merlin is an easy one to spot since he moves about a lot and is wearing colourful beachwear. He's got orange and blue trunks on and a faded tee is shielding him from the worst of the sun. Despite that his arms are getting sunburnt where the shirt can't reach, that is from the biceps down and around the neck._ _

__Pivoting on his feet, Merlin throws Ollie a Frisbee._ _

__A few loud barks later Ollie dashes happily into the water, swims some, head held high, catches the Frisbee with his teeth and makes it back to shore, shaking the damp from his coat._ _

__Loafers filling with sand Arthur walks over to them, clutching the box tight to his chest. “Merlin,” he calls out, and cups his hands around his mouth. “Merlin!”_ _

__That gets Merlin's attention. He waves Arthur over, a smile breaking on his lips._ _

__Arthur plods across the sand, lifting up coarse clumps of it as he moves towards Merlin. When he's joined him, Merlin brings his lips to his and says, “Hola, desconoscido.”_ _

__Arthur grins into the kiss just as Ollie trots back to them. He's wagging his tail and making it known that he's there by way of some heavy panting. Merlin bends over and, grasping the opposite end the Frisbee from the one Ollie's slobbering over, waits for the dog to relinquish it. "Good boy!"_ _

__As Merlin gives Ollie an ear rub, Arthur says, “There's something I wanted to say.”_ _

__Ollie is sprawling on the sand, eyes a bit spirited he's so pleased he's getting petted. “Fire away,” Merlin says, not slacking in his petting duties._ _

__“Let's go sit.”_ _

__Merlin looks up, his eyes going narrower. “Wow, that important?”_ _

__With Ollie loitering about sniffing things, they stomp back to Merlin's towel, kicking up more sand as they go. They both sink down in nearly mirroring poses, knees drawn up. Arthur rests the box on the towel, sure that it's safe for the moment, and since it's baking hot he rolls his shirt sleeves up._ _

__Merlin sniggers at his clothing choice and watches him out of eyes he screens with his palm._ _

__When he's comfortable Arthur says, “I got news from home. My financial settlement has been finalised.”_ _

__“Wow,” Merlin says, looking out to sea. “Already? How did it go?”_ _

__“I'm a lot poorer but that's all right,” says Arthur. “I'm incredibly happy with this settlement. Now I'm sure Gwen will be all right, life-long.”_ _

__Merlin rests his hand on top of his. “You're a good man, you know, and I like you no matter what, Croesus rich, dirt poor, or in between.”_ _

__Arthur resists a smile. His face burns more than the sun's rays can make it and he's the one to look out to the horizon now. The clouds are moving rapidly from east to west and they've become a touch sparser, with a cotton like quality to them that gets wispier around their frayed edges. “I'm just...” Arthur trails off. “Happy.”_ _

__Merlin beams at him even though he's squinting against the bright glare of the sun. “I'm glad you're happy.”_ _

__They enjoy a moment basking solely in that and then Arthur speaks again. “The settlement is the reason why I wanted to talk to you.”_ _

__Merlin holds his eyebrows up, transverse wrinkles rippling his forehead. “What have I got to do with that?”_ _

__“Nothing much,” Arthur concedes. He leans back, hands braced either side of him, and inhales. “Not directly. But now all I have is decidedly mine to do with as I please. Before I couldn't be sure I wasn't taking something that should be hers. But now I'm free to dispose of all my assets.”_ _

__Merlin snorts. “Is that you announcing to the world you're having a mid-life crisis before you actually hit mid-life? I don't know, are you about to buy a bike and motor your way back home? That kind of stuff?”_ _

__“No,” Arthur says, picking up the box he's brought along for this very purpose and handing it over to Merlin. “Open it.”_ _

__Merlin's forehead puckers but he does. “This is a gold wrist-watch,” he gasps._ _

__Arthur hums in assent. He doesn't need to look to remember its silver dial and blue steel hands or its hinged back square case. “It was my mother's great granddad’s.” Arthur points in the direction of the box. “It's a pretty quirky watch. It's got wolf's tooth winding. That's a bit of a period rarity.”_ _

__“Arthur, it says Cartier here.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Arthur admits, quickly sledge-hammmering over that. “It's a family heirloom and I want you to have it.”_ _

__Merlin sucks in air. “I can't. It must be worth a fortune.”_ _

__Seventeen thousand pounds, Arthur thinks but doesn't say. He's not willing to play into Merlin's hand. “I want you to have it. Does how much it's worth really matter?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Merlin says, closing the box. “I can't accept something like this.”_ _

__Arthur sits up straight. “It'd make me very happy if you did though.”_ _

__“Arthur, we've only been together five months,” Merlin says in a voice Arthur bets Merlin thinks is logical. “I thinks it's early for this kind of thing.”_ _

__“Well, I for one, think it's high time,” Arthur tells him, getting a bit fired. He's done waiting for things to happen. He's done putting his life on hold as if he deserves nothing better. He's done punishing himself for things he can't change and denying himself his measure of happiness. “It's high time for living and... committing.”_ _

__Merlin's nostrils flare. “Arthur.”_ _

__“I'm not asking you to do the same,” Arthur tells him, thinking that might be the problem. “I'm not asking you to say as much. I'm not asking for declarations of anything. I'd just like to know you have this on you. Because it's something that is of value to me and...” Arthur stops with his impassioned speech, getting tongue tied. He sees the connection pretty clearly but he's not sure Merlin can yet. And he doesn't know how to explain either. He's sure his mother would have had the words in similar circumstances but he's not good with them and has to make do with what he has. But the more he tries to come up with a vocalisation of his feelings the more doubts surface about one aspect of his speech, namely Merlin's take on it. “Just--” He rips his gaze away. “Unless of course you don't want to.”_ _

__Merlin lays a hand on his thigh while he straps on the watch with the other. “I just don't want you to be so extravagant. And all that to prove things I already know.”_ _

__Arthur locks eyes on him. “I didn't even buy it.”_ _

__“And I just don't want to keep on taking.”_ _

__“I think,” Arthur says in a thoughtful voice, “that what we have is pretty much based on give and take, Merlin.”_ _

__Merlin flashes him a big toothy smile and Arthur feels his chest catch. He's still recouping when Merlin unfastens the wrist band he bought three days ago in Almussafes and slaps it around Arthur's wrist._ _

__Arthur leans in and puts a kiss close to Merlin's ear, watching him go all smiley. “There's something else,” he says, extracting a note from the pocket of his white shirt. “Here.”_ _

__Merlin takes the note and reads it out loud. “Guinevere Smith and Lancelot du Lac request the honour of your presence at the celebration of their marriage, Sunday, 6th October --” Merlin's head shoots up. “Guinevere as in Gwen your ex? She's getting married?”_ _

__“Yes,” Arthur says, wiping sand off his shoes. He steals a glance at Merlin. “Will you be my plus one?”_ _

__“Yeah, sure,” Merlin tells him with a smile, "but are you sure it won't be awkward?”_ _

__“Read the back of the card,” Arthur says, making accompanying hand gestures._ _

__Merlin does. “ _Take him, Arthur, please. I want to meet him properly this time, yours, Gwen_.”_ _

__Merlin beams at him. “I'll be looking forward to this then!”_ _

__Arthur is leaning forwards to kiss Merlin when Ollie comes bounding over, jumping them both and raising a minor sandstorm. As a result of Ollie's effort sand is residing in Arthur's shoes and in his mouth and in his hair. But Arthur forgives him because it's thanks of Ollie that he's got Merlin._ _

__

__The End._ _  



End file.
